I  f 


I  fc 


I  %. 


\  $ 


a 


1  mm 


-b  D  3  aj  D  rr, 


- 
-The  University  of  ( 

Stack 

Annex 


OSTO 


DISTRICT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS,  to  wit: 
District  Clerks'  Office. 

Be  it  remembered,  that  on  the  thirtieth  day  of  June, 
A.  D.  1823,  in  the  forty-seventh  year  of  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  United  States  of  America,  Selleck  Osborn 
and  Thomas  Rowe,  of  the  said  district,  have  deposited 
in  this  Office  the  Title  of  a  Book,  the  Right  whereof 
they  claim  as  Proprietors,  in  the  words  following,  to  wit: 

"  Poems,  Moral,  Sentimental  and  Satirical."  —  By 
SELLECK  OSBORN. 

In  Conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States,  intitled,  *  '  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  Learning', 
by  securing-  the  Copies  of  Maps,  Charts  and  Books,  to  the  Au- 
thors and  Proprietors  of  such  Copies,  during  the  Times  there- 
in mentioned;"  and  also  to  an  Act  intitled,  "  An  Act  sup- 
plementary- to  an  Act,  intitled,  an  Act  for  the  encouragement 
of  Learning,  by  securing  the  Copies  of  Maps,  Charts  and 
Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprietors  of  such  Copies  during 
the  times  therein  mentioned  ;  and  extending  the  benefits 
thereof  to  the  Arts  of  Designing,  Engraving-  and  Etching  His- 
••orical,  and  other  Prints." 

JOHN  W.  DAVIS, 
Clerk  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Ix  appearing  before  the  Public  at  full  length,  as  tlie 
author  of  a  VOLUME,  I  have  not  been  able  to  persuade 
myself  to  dispense  with  the  established  form  of  making 
my  respects  to  the  good  company  whose  attention  I 
have  solicited.  I  am  not  fond  of  ceremonv ;  but  as 
a  degree  of  ceremony  has  become  a  part  of  social  law, 
I  will  conform  to  usage  with  the  best  grace  and  deco- 
rum in  my  power,  by  a  few  remarks,  on  introducing 
the  collected  offspring  of  my  heart  and  brain  to  the 
public,  on  whose  liberality  and  indulgence  they  must 
lean  for  countenance  and  support. 

I  feel  encouraged  in  addressing  the  American  public, 
when  I  recognise  many  individuals,  who  have  kindly 
noticed  these  little  stray  ones,  and  cherished  and  en- 
tertained them  with  true  literary  hospitality ;  but  1 
also  feel  a  diffidence  in  presenting  them  collectively, to 
a  promiscuous  community,  among  whom  may  be  some 
of  those  who  would  maliciously  point  out  the  plain  and 
the  awkward  (for  such  there  are,  undoubtedly)  and 
neglect  the  fair  and  the  intelligent  (of  which  I  hope 
some  may  be  found.) — Such  as  they  are,  their  legitima- 


cj  is  unquestionable — their  merits  are  submitted  to  the 
candor  of  the  public . 

This  writing  of  prefaces  and  introductions  is  a  more 
serious  business  than  I  was  aware  of  when  I  sat  down 
to  hold  what  I  intended  for  a  familiar  chat  with  my 
readers. — It  is  so  difficult  to  avoid  actual  egotism  01 
apparent  affectation  in  such  a  case,  that  I  have  been 
half  determined  to  omit  the  article  altogether  ;  but  still 
the  imputation  of  affected  singularity  might  lie  against 
me. — I  have  therefore  made  up  my  mind  to  say  what 
I  think  necessary  to  be  said,  in  that  spirit  of  plain 
frankness  and  candor,  by  which  one  never  loses,  except 
in  matters  of  traffic  and  speculation. 

In  presenting  this  volume  to  the  public,  my  princi- 
pal apprehension  is,  that  the  selections  which  have 
been  occasionally  exhibited,  and  the  flattering  com- 
ments which  my  literary  countrymen,  in  their  kind 
zeal,  have  made  thereon,  may  have  wrought  the  ex- 
pectation of  my  patrons  and  readers  to  a  height  which 
the  merit  of  the  whole  work  will  not  reach  ;  and  that 
disappointment  may  follow,  and  the  reaction  of  feeling 
underrate  me  as  much  as  I  may  have  been  overrated 
by  the  partiality  of  friendship,  and  favorable  prepos- 


I  am  \vell  aware  that  some  of  the  juvenile  produc- 
tions included  in  this  collection,  are  crude  in  style  and 
manner,  though  they  may  not  be  altogether  deficient  in 
matter.  They  are  designated  by  dates  annexed.  I 
had  intended  to  dress  them  anew  for  their  holiday  ex- 
hibition, but  the  pleasure  of  meeting  them  again  en- 
tirely diverted  my  attention  from  their  apparel,  and 
on  the  second  thought  I  deemed  their  clean  and  plain 
dress  most  becoming  their  character.  For  their  sake 
and  my  own,  I  hope  my  friends  and  readers  will  con- 
descend to  give  them  welcome,  as  they  are. 

Surprise  lias  often  been  manifested,  when  I  have 
truly  stated,  that  I  never,  except  by  mere  accident, 
kept  copies  of  these  occasional  productions  ;  and  this 
surprise  was  very  natural,  for  there  are  not  many  in 
society,  whatever  their  latent  talents  may  be,  who  have 
indulged  themselves  in  the  greatest  of  all  luxuries — the 
excursions  of  the  heart  and  the  mind — the  play  of 
thought  and  sentiment — the  rambles  and  promenades, 
the  soaring  and  flitting  of  Fancy  through  indefinite 
space,  independent  of  time  and  circumstance.  When, 
after  such  an  exquisite  recreation,  one  is  obliged  to 
rest  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  come  to  the  gross 
concern  of  plain  paper  and  ink,  and  metre  and  rhyme — 
a.  sense  of  degradation,  if  not  disgust,  induces  one  to 
*1 


hasten  the  scrawl  out  of  his  sight  and  memory,  until  he 
meets  it  again  in  future,  with  all  that  is  spiritual  about 
it,  and  without  its  gross  associations. 

This  will  account  for  what  might  seem  to  be  culpa- 
ble carelessness  and  indifference  on  the  part  of  the 
author,  and  a  reprehensible  neglect  of  his  productions. 
In  truth  there  is  something  so  formally  dull  in  the  ex- 
hibition of  a  fair  copy  book  of  one's  occasional  effusions, 
kept  with  all  the  cold  deliberation  of  a  business  jour- 
nal— something  so  anti-poetical — that  I  never  see  one 
without  conceiving  a  strong  prepossession  against  the 
genius  of  the  writer. 

Many  of  these  articles  were  written  between  the  age 
of  sixteen,  and  the  age  of  maturity  and  its  attendant 
cares,  when  the  vexations  of  precarious  business  subdue, 
in  a  great  degree,  all  the  feelings  and  reflections  which 
have  a  poetical  tendency. 

My  earliest  productions  were  those  of  hours  stolen. 
from  repose,  transcribed  in  disguise  with  a  trembling 
hand,  and  secretly  deposited  with  palpitating  diffi- 
dence, so  as  to  elude,  for  a  long  time,  not  only  detec- 
tion but  suspicion. — Their  acceptance  and  publication 
satisfied  me ;  and  as  the  idea  of  republication  or  collec- 
tion, never  occurred  to  me,  I  had  no  motive  to  keep 


copies.  Thus  I  have  lost  many  ;  and  such  as  I  have 
reclaimed  have  been  collected  with  much  labor  and 
considerable  expense. 

Against  the  advice  of  some  sanguine  friends,  I  have 
discarded  more,  probably,  than  this  volume  contains  ; 
some  on  account  of  local  and  temporary  politics — som^ 
on  account  of  my  own  dissatisfaction  with  their  literary 
character;  and  although  my  self-criticism  has  been 
somewhat  rigid,  I  am  not  without  apprehension  that 
impartial  critics  will  adjudge  that  more  pruning  would 
have  been  proper.  Under  the  head  of  Fragments  and 
Extracts,  I  have  inserted  selections  from  mixed  pro- 
ductions ;  which  extracts  I  could  not  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  throw  aside,  as  I  deemed  their  moral  and  pat- 
riotic, and  perhaps  their  poetical  features,  to  be  worth 
preserving. 

Over  and  above  ordinary  considerations,  one  of  the 
strongest  motives  which  have  induced  me  to  the  labor 
and  expense  of  this  compilation,  is  self  protection — 
protection  against  the  torturing  mutilations  with  which 
the  newspaper  editors  and  printers  have  vexed  me. — 
As  an  instance  in  point,  among  many  others,  the 
stanzas  entitled  "  The  Treble  Voice,"  were,  by  some 
strange  hallucination,  inserted  in  one  of  the  newspa- 
pers under  the  head  of  "  The  Terrible  Voice  !"  I  deem 


viii 

BO  labor  too  great  to  avert  such  mortifications.  I  can- 
not consent  that,  in  case  my  effusions  survive  me,  (and 
if  they  do  not  they  will  be  short  lived  indeed)  they 
should  appear  so  disfigured  and  distorted  as  to  make 
my  family  and  friends  blush  at  their  appearance. 

Among  the  many  discouraging  circumstances  which 
beset  an  author  while  publishing  a  volume  of  poetry,  is 
the  perversion  of  taste  which  is  too  prevalent,  not  only 
in  Europe,  but,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in  our  own  coun- 
try. The  swelling  sublimity  of  HOMER  and  MILTON, 
the  earnest  and  zealous  exhortations  of  YOUNG,  and  the 
tender  and  amiable  effusions  of  GOLDSMITH,  are  acknowl- 
edged by  all,  but  generally  neglected  ;  epecially  when 
a  new  novel  or  poem,  coined  by  the  stamp  of  fashion, 
or  rather  dressed  in  the  mode  of  the  day,  comes  bust- 
ling into  the  social  circle,  and  at  once  dissipates  all  that 
is  serious,  solid,  grave,  and  truly  interesting. — I  have 
made,  in  my  own  reflections,  many  similes  on  this 
point.  Sometimes  I  have  compared  it  to  a  scene  of  de 
votion,  when  the  principal  personage  has  not  only 
wrought  his  hearers,  but  himself,  into  that  tone  of 
thought  and  feeling  which  so  well  becomes  the  occasion 
— when  the  speaker,  if  not  inspired,  is  at  least  prepared 
and  disciplined  for  his  holy  purpose — when  his  pious 
audience  are  so  softened  and  mellowed  as  to  receive 
and  retain  the  slightest  touch  of  his  eloquence — when 


this  deep  and  calm  solemnity  is  interrupted  by  the  rat- 
tling equipage  and  ostentatious  entrance  of  a  poetical 
nobleman,  or  a  popular  novel -weaver — and  when  all 
that  is  amiable  and  substantially  pious  is  suspended  or 
lost  in  the  wonder  and  curiosity  excited  by  the  momen- 
tary pageant. 

This  perversion  of  moral  taste,  like  that  of  the  nat' 
wal  appetite,  induces  a  hankering  for  whatever  is  high- 
ly seasoned  and  pungent.  The  plain,  homely  and 
wholesome  fare  which  satisfies  the  healthy  stomachj 
becomes  insipid  to  the  morbid  palate.  Nothing  short 
of  the  extravagant  ravings  of  a  MATURIX,  the  cynical 
moroseness  of  a  BYRON,  or  the  intoxicating  witcheries 
of  the  "  Great  Unknown"  Novelist,  will  satisfy  our 
modern  readers  ;  and  by  a  very  natural  consequence, 
the  gruel  and  barley  water  of  every-day  verse  makers 
is  resorted  to  when  the  high  excitement  has  subsided. 

Whatever  estimation  may  be  generally  formed  of  the 
merit  of  mere  metre  and  rhyme — whatever  genius  may 
be  supposed  requisite  for  this  mechanical  display  of 
chosen  words  and  syllables — it  is  mere  show  and  sound, 
unless  it  has  condensed  matter  and  pointed  meaning. — 
I  have  often  read  long  pieces  of  poetry,  pleased  with 
the  smoothness  and  delicacy  of  the  verse,  and  still  more 
pleased  with  the  expectation  of  coming  at  last  to  the 


aim  and  object  of  the  writer,  but  in  vain — it  was  all  a 
blank — and  a  kind  of  melancholy  disappointment  en- 
sued, such  as  one  feels  when  he  finds  folly  and  igno- 
rance under  the  mask  of  a  beautiful  and  promising 
face. 

I  am  not  the  proper  judge  to  decide  whether  some 
of  my  own  poetical  exercises  may  or  may  not  come 
within  the  range  of  this  censure.  But  one  thing  I  am 
sure  of. — I  never  sat  down  to  write  when  I  had  not  a 
strong  pressure  of  moral  or  patriotic  sentiment.  Wheth- 
er the  expression  of  such  sentiment  was  adequate  to 
the  design,  I  respectfully  submit  to  the  reader.  I  can 
conscientiously  present  this  volume  to  the  most  delicate 
female  ;  I  can  bequeath  it  to  my  family 'as  a  fire -side 
recreation,  with  no  other  diffidence  than  such  as  may 
accrue  from  doubtful  talents. 

Lest  the  besetting  sin  of  egotism  and  garrulity  should 
grow  upon  me  unawares,  I  take  a  hasty  leave  of  my 
readers,  and  leave  my  first  born  volume  to  their  kind 
ness  and  indulgence. 


POEMS ; 


SELLEOK   OSBORN. 


NEW-ENGLAND : 


A 
DESCRIPTIVE   AND   NARRATIVE. 


BLEST  be  the  land,  where  first  my  infant  eyes 
OpenM  to  verdant  fields  and  genial  skies — 
Where  wanton  Childhood  all  its  pranks  confess'd, 
While  Education  bared  her  ample  breast ; 
Where  the  first  sigh  of  ardent  Youth  I  drew, 
Where  Manhood  all  its  holiest  pleasures  knew, 
Where  kindred  forms,  releas'd  from  care  and  toil, 
Rest  their  worn  limbs  beneath  their  native  soil. 

From  northern  Europe's  frozen  regions,  where 
Man's  love  or  hatred  emulates  the  bear — 
From  middle  Europe's  pedantry  and  lore, 
From  our  paternal  island's  rugged  shore — 
From  Asia's  prurient  and  voluptuous  throng—- 
From Grecian  isles,  conspicuous  in  song — 
From  Afric's  sterile  or  luxuriant  soil — 
From  oceans,  where  adventurous  seamen  toil — 


14 


From  mid-Jltlantic's  rock— the  hero's  grave — 
From  shores  that  meet  Pacific's  farthest  wave — 
From  halcyon  isles,  like  dimples,  on  its  face, 
Where  fertile  Nature  teems  with  wealth  and  grace ; 
From  southern  regions,  emulouslj  brave, 
Where  Spain's  regenerate  sons  their  banners  wave — 
From  Mississippi's  and  Missouri's  shores, 
Whence  enterprise  her  well-earn'd  treasure  pours — 
From  Alabama's  to  Virginia's  plain, 
Where  hospitality  and  honor  reign — 
From  all  (elsewhere)  in  nature  or  in  art—- 
From all  that,  elsewhere,  cheers  or  stings  the  heart- 
To  thee,  NEW-ENGLAND,  my  affection  tends  ; 
To  thee  my  fondest  recollection  bends. 

Nurse  of  my  earliest  hope,  my  ripest  joy  ! 
What  theme  more  grateful  could  my  verse  employ? 
Thy  copious  breast  is  bounteous,  if  not  fair — 
My  heart,  unwean'd,  still  clings  and  nestles  there. 
Though  doom'd  to  exile  by  stern  Fate's  decree, 
Still  Memory  and  Mind  can  visit  thee. 

Borne  on  Imagination's  buoyant  wings, 
Again  I  view  thy  groves,  thy  hills,  thy  springs  ; 
Thy  coy,  reluctant,  but  relenting  soil, 
Woo'd  and  subdu'd  by  persevering  toil-— 


15 


Thy  various  coast ;  where  frowns  the  rocky  shore, 
Where  the  rude  breakers  beat  with  ceaseless  roar ; 
Or  where  the  lazy  billows  slowly  reach 
And  gambol  on  the  far  extended  beach — 
"Where  islands  in  fantastic  groups  are  seen, 
And  pigmy  promontories,  crown'd  with  green ; 
Where  rise  the  hulks  that  float  on  distant  seas, 
In  tropic  climes  that  scorch,  or  climes  that  freeze, 
Whose  prows,  directed  by  each  hardy  crew, 
The  giant  whale  or  valued  cod  pursue — 
W'here  many  a  fearless  tar  was  early  bred, 
The  light  of  victory  'round  our  flag  to  spread  ; 
To  scan  all  climes  and  visit  every  realm — 
And  o'er  earth's  surface  guide  the  subject  helm. 

Now  to  the  eagle's  element  we  rise ; 
Would  we  were  gifted  with  an  eagle's  eyes, 
To  view,  delighted,  from  our  loftiest  flight, 
Our  lov'd,  our  parent  land,  with  perfect  sight. 

There,  on  that  consecrated  rock,  our  sires 
Kindled  their  own  and  Freedom's  holier  fires ; 
While  on  a  firmer  rock  their  faith  reclin'd, 
In  pious  hope,  to  Heaven's  care  resign'd ; 
Midst  howls  of  beasts,  and  man's  more  savage  yell, 


16 


Thence  sprang  the  hardy  race,  by  peril  tried, 
"Whose  blood  within  my  veins  I  feel  with  pride  j 
Who,  firm  in  council,  dauntless  in  the  field, 
Beneath  Oppression's  weight  disdain'd  to  yield  ; 
Who  first  before  a  despot's  legions  stood, 
First  pour  d  the  rich  libation  of  their  blood  ; 
To  the  stern  front  of  power  defiance  hurl'd, 
And  to  fair  Freedom  gave  a  new-born  world. 
*  *  *  *  * 

Now  from  my  lofty  altitude  I  view 

The  adjacent  state — diminitive,  'tis  true — 

But  rich  with  art's  and  nature's  various  wealth, 

Richer  with  female  beauty,  and  with  health. 

Now  to  the  north  I  take  my  airy  flight, 

And  on  the  elevated  dome  alight ; 

(The  gay  metropolis  beneath  my  eye ;) 

I  see  the  sons  of  toil  their  labor  ply  ; 

The  speculators,  sedulous  for  gain, 

The  merchants,  bargaining  with  anxious  pain  j 

The  mariner,  who  spreads  or  furls  the  sail, 

Whose  sonorous  voice  comes  mellow'd  by  the  gale, 

The  umbrageous  promenade,  the  city's  pride  ; 

Where  beauteous  forms,,  like  kindred  graces  glide  j 

The  sloping  lawn  adjacent,  too,  is  seen, 

With  nature's  carpet  cloth'd,  of  lovely  green, 


17 


The  ranks  that  glitter,  emulous  of  war, 
And,  without  danger,  mock  the  battle's  roar, 
The  isles' that  cluster  in  the  distant  view, 
Like  Em'ralds,  in  relief,  on  fields  of  blue ; 
The  golden  crested  spires,  whose  giant  forms 
Reflect  the  sun-beams,  or  defy  the  storms  ; 
The  bustling  town,  its  ratt'ling  noise  and  din, 
Whose  out-door  clamor  drowns  the  voice  within, 
Whose  streets  irregularly  wind  their  way, 
With  men  of  whims  more  devious  still  than  they  ; 
'Mongst  whose  few  foibles  many  virtues  dwell ; 
Scene  of  my  mingled  joys  and  cares,  farewell ! 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Once  more  I  mount  on  fancy's  wing,  and  spy, 
The  scenery,  as  a  map  beneath  my  eye  ; 
From  the  fanvd  cape,  whose  curv'd,  fantastic  form, 
Resists,  unmov'd,  the  oriental  storm, 
More  northward  still,  variety  I  seek, 
Where  the  White  Mountain  rears  its  lofty  peak, 
Uplifts  its  summit  with  majestic  pride, 
The  stranger's  wonder,  and  the  seaman's  guide. 

Now  o'er  alternate  hills  and  plains  I  speed, 
Passing  a  virtuous  race  as  I  proceed ; 


18 


Now  in  plain  grandeur  rises  to  my  view, 
The  Mountains  cloth'd  in  ever-verdant  hue, 
Whose  summits  are  with  noble  forests  crown'd, 
And  on  whose  breasts  the  teeming  fields  abound  ; 
Delightful  scene  !  fain  would  I  hover  near, 
And  witness  innocence  and  virtue  here ; 
But  fancy's  wings  are  weary ;  and  I  come 
To  recreate  them  at  my  early  Home ; 

0  soothing  word,  so  pregnant  with  delight ; 

Blest  HOME  !  how  dear — how  welcome  to  my  sight, 

1  lay  my  aching  head  on  thy  kind  breast, 
And  in  thy  soft  embraces  seek  for  rest ! 

THE  THANKSGIVING. 

'But,  HOME,  intrinsic  as  it's  blessings  are, 

From  time  and  place  acquir'd  delight  receives. 

Belov'd  NEW-ENGLAND  !  'tis  thy  privilege 

To  multiply  tli'  enjoyments  that  attend 

The  fireside  meetings  of  domestic  life, 

When  prayer  and  praise  in  mingled  sounds  arise, 

And  festal  odours  fill  the  ambient  skies. 

Forbid,  my  Memory,  that  I  should  forget 
The  spot  bdov'd,  where  last,  in  happier  days, 


19 


I  feasted  thus. — An  emigrant  in  wilds, 
Far  to  the  west,  through  tedious  years  I  toil'd ; 
And  tho'  health  bless'd  me,  and  my  labor  prosper'ds 
How  often  did  my  anxious  bosom  yearn 
For  the  dear  scene  of  early  industry, 
For  kindred  faces  that  once  smil'd  on  me  ! 
Meanwhile,  with  stinted  and  strict  self-denial, 
The  means  I  hoarded  to  enjoy,  once  more, 
The  comforts  of  that  long  remember'd  roof, 
Homely,  indeed,  but  still  rever'd  and  lov'd ; 
Remote  from  scenes  where  rival  knavery  strives, 
Where  Poverty  is  harness'd,  and  Wealth  drives. 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

Through  chilly  mists  of  latter  autumn,  I, 
With  all  my  dear  ones,  o'er  the  mountain's  path, 
And  the  dull  plains,  through  tedious  roads  of  sand, 
Or  near  the  precipice,  whose  lofty  verge 
With  sudden  giddiness  confused  the  head — 
My  toilsome  inarch  pursu'd ;  and  as  the  hope 
Of  home  invigorates  the  seaman's  arm, 
And  rouses  all  his  courage  in  the  storm, 
So  the  dear  goal  of  all  my  hardships  led 
My  steps,  unwearied,  to  my  journey's  end. 

At  length,  like  Pisgah's  prospect,  to  my  eye 
The  vale  appear'd  j  and  tho'  with  hurried  hand 


20 


>  The  herald  of  stern  "Winter  had  disrob'd 
The  trees,  and  cloth'd  the  fields  in  frosty  grey, 
Yet,  recollecting  all  their  former  bloom, 
Their  fragrant  freshness  and  their  teeming  boughs, 
I  lov'd  them  not  the  less,  though  tempests  rude 
Had  shaken  them,  and  left  their  limbs  expos'd 
To  winter's  adverse  and  relentless  power. 

#  *  *  *  * 

The  sun  was  down  ;  and  the  young  twilight  serv'd 
To  soften,  not  obscure,  as  I  approach'd 
Familiar  objects,  joyfully  remembcr'd. 
Dear  valley  !  relic  of  the  golden  age, 
If  such  an  age  did  ever  bless  the  earth — 
How  oft,  disgusted  with  the  rude  frontier, 
Where  hardy  men  are  boisterous  as  brave  ; 
Or  with  the  city's  bowing,  simpering  throng, 
Veiling  with  smiles  their  cold  and  selfish  hearts  ; 
From  these  how  often  I  have  long'd  to  fly, 
And  seek  refreshment  on  thy  peaceful  lap, 
Thy  mild  simplicity  again  to  view, 
Thy  social  justice,  which  nor  wealth  nor  pride 
Can  sway,  when  merit  comes  in  humblest  form. 

#  *  *  *  o  •*• 

Now  came  we  to  the  ample  pile  of  wood, 
For  winter's  comfort  stord  ;  the  poultry  near. 


Were  struggling  hard  their  usual  perch  to  reach 
The  aged  watch-dog's  interdental  growl, 
Doubting,  yet  half  remembering  his  friends, 
Was  follow'd  by  what  words  cannot  describe. 
The  MEETING  of  long  separated  hearts, 
Its  sweet  confusion  and  its  clamorous  joy  ! 
Here  a  lov'd  sire,  respected  and  rever'd 
For  virtue — though  comparatively  poor- 
Here  a  fond  "mother,  notable  as  kind — 
Here  elder  sisters,  with  their  spouses,  were 
Surrounded  by  a  brisk  and  healthy  brood— 
A  manly  brother  with  toil -harden 'd  hand — 
And  junior  sisters,  ftush'd  with  ripen'd  youth—- 
And a  strange  guest,  with  mutilated  face, 
Warmly  invited,  had  consented  here 
To  share  the  feast  of  the  ensuing  day—' 
All  here  assembled  round  the  evening  fire, 
And  with  that  frank  sincerity  that  cheers 
A  home  like  this,  the  joyful,  merry  group 
Crack'd,  now  the  unctuous  nut,  and  now  a  joke ; 
And  feasted  on  the  orchard's  various  wealth ; 
'Till  the  good  father,  ev'n  with  joy  fatigued, 
The  cheerful  clamor  hush'd  with  closing  prayer, 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

The  hour  has  come,  when,  in  their  best  attire, 
The  happy,  grateful  throng  the  house  attend, 


Where  worship  consecrates  the  day  of  thanks  ; 
Thanks  for  the  finish'd  harvest,  and  for  all 
The  blessings  of  indulgent  Providence  ; 
Thanks,  even-  for  affliction's  chastening  rod, 
Thanks  to  a  frowning  or  a  smiling  God  ! 

*  •*  *  *  * 

In  the  old  fashion'd  parlour  next  we  met, 
Humble,  'tis  true,  but  spacious,  neat  and.  clean  ; 
And  if  a  heavenly  foretaste  e'er  was  given 
To  undeserving  mortals,  it  was  there ! 
There  conversation,  unrestrain'd  and  sweet, 
Reminded  kindved  souls  of  days  long  past, 
While  little  ones  their  sportive  gambols  play'd, 
And  climb'd  on  the  delighted  grandsire's  knees, 
Whose  every  smile  of  pleasure  seem'd  design'd 
New  channels  to  afford  for  pleasure's  tears.    , 
And  when,  for  festivals  like  this  reserv'd, 
The  strong,  but  temperate  draught,  reviv'd  his  heart; 
With  renovated  youth  his  eyes  appeared, 
"When  various  tales  of  Freedom's  war  he  told, 
Of  pleasant  pranks,  of  dangers,  or  of  toil. 

The  table  now,  with  ample  viands  spread, 
Call'd  for  a  blessing  through  the  good  old  man, 


23 


Who  fervently  the  pious  task  pcrform'd. 
And  all  (with  appetites)  can  well  conceive, 
Without  description's  aid,  the  feasting  scene. 

*  :•;-  *  *  *  -•('• 

And  now  a  pang  of  recollection  heav'd 
The  bosom  of  the  venerable  sire  ; 
For  one  belov'd  ;  whose  face  the  previous  year 
'Had  cheer'd  the  annual  festival ;  but  whom 
The  deep  tempestuous  ocean  had  devour'd. 
The  name  of  WILLIAM  trembled  on  his  lips  ; 
When  at  his  side  the  stranger  guest  appear'd, 
And  to  his  parent  bent  the  filial  knee  ; 
I  am  thy  WILLIAM— that  long  absent  son, 
By  pirates  captur'd,  mangled  and  deform'd, 
Confin'd  in  caverns;  but,  by  heaven's  decree, 
Restor'd  to  country,  home,  to  friends,  to  thee  ! 

*  *  *  *  *  * 
Now,  O  my  God  !  the  pious  father  cry'd, 

"  My  cup  of  blessings  overflows",  indeed  ; 
I  thank'd  thee,  even  when  I  thought  thou  hadst 
Withdrawn  my  daiiing  from  this  wicked  world, 
But  now  thy  goodness  overwhelms  my  heart ; 
O,  give  me  grace  to  thank  thee  as  I  ought. 

A  slender  form  now  in  the  scene  appear'd  ; 
"Twas  she  who  long  had  mourn'd  a  husband  lost, 


24 


Her  eyes  enliven'd  by  the  sudden  joy, 

Her  features  glowing  with  long  absent  bloom, 

O,  welcome,  even  as  thou  art,  my  love, 

They  have  not  maim'd  thy  Mind,  nor  alienated 

What  most  I  prize,  thy  faithful,  constant  Heart ; 

She  said,  and  clasp'd  him  to  her  throbbing  breast. 

This  was  a  day  of  thanks  indeed  ;  and  clos'd 
With  prayer  and  praises  to  the  God  of  Mercy. 


25 
MR.  CRICKET; 

OR,    OXE    WAY    TO    RAISE    THE    WIND. 

A  gentleman,  for  he  assunvd  as  much, 

Tho'  long  the  world  had  ceas'd  to  think  him  such, 
Suffer'd  the  very  common  curse 
Which  many  feel — an  empty  purse  ! 

And  scarcely  could  procure  his  bread  and.  salt ; 
'Twas  bad,  you  know — but  what  was  worse, 

His  thrifty  neighbors  said,  'twas  his  own  fault. 

But  it  is  not  my  business  now  to  pause 
And  tediously  investigate  the  cause ; 
It  is  enough  that,  (whether  saint  or  sinner) 
He  had  not  means  to  get  a  dinner. 

A  lady,  of  immeasurable  wealth, 

Had  lost  a  diamond  ring — supposed  by  stealth — 

And,  in  the  absence  of  her  lord, 

Offer d  a  generous  reward, 

And  pledg'd  her  honor,  which  must  bind  her, 

To  thank  as  well  as  pay  the  finder. 

Now  this  poor  gentleman,  whose  name  was  CRICKET, 
His  stomach,  like  a  dun,  incessant  urging, 
3 


No  obstacle  would  stick  at, 

To  quiet  it  with  gorging. 

Thought  he,  I  must  be  still  a  hungry  lounger,  or 
Do  something,  in  the  character  of  conjurer — 

The  lady  in  her  search  seems  sedulous, 

And  if  she  equally  is  credulous, 
I  know  my  part,  and  do  conceive  a  trick 
AVhich,  to  be  sure  may  cost  me  many  a  kick ; 

But  by  some  means. I  must  administer 
Some  nutriment  to  this  poor  maw, 

And  though  my  plan  be  somewhat  sinister, 
,  Necessity  obeys  no  law  ; 

The  ring,  indeed,  I  can't  restore, 

But  I'll  have  chance  to  eat  once  more. 

Without  delay  he  took  occasion 
To  ply  the  lady  with  persuasion ; 

Indeed,  so  well  he  play'd  his  part, 
That  shebeliev'd,  perhaps— or  feign'd 
To  think  the  ring  might  be  obtain'd 
By  dint  of  magic  art. 

Give  me  but  three  successive  dinners,  madam, 
Your  best — and,  as  the  sole  reward,  I  ask  it, 
And  shortly  after  I  have  had  'em, 
Ypur  jewel  shall  be  in  its  casket. 


27 


The  lady  condescendingly  comply'd, 
(Her  curiosity  we  need  not  mention) 

She  had  some  reason  that  he  should  be  try'd, 
And  wish'd  to  know  the  truth  of  his  pretension. 


Three  waiting  servants  had  combin'd 
To  do  the  mischief,  and  divide  the  spoil, 

Among  them  they  the  jewel  had  purloin'd, 
And  thus  occasion'd  this  turmoil. 

This  Mr.  CRICKET  was  not  known  by  name, 

Though  late  that  night  while  sleeping  calm  he  lay, 

He  was  pronounc'd  a  conjurer  of  fame, 
By  all  the  servile  gossips  of  the  family. 

One  of  the  guilty  trio  next  day  waited 

Upon  our  gentleman  at  dinner ; 
And  when  his  appetite  he  well  had  sated, 

By  accident  glanc'd  tow'rd  the  sinner ; 

"  Now  I  am  sure  of  one,"  he  said, 

Rising  from  table  slowly — 
The  waiter  told  his  fellows,  "  we're  betray'd  ! 

He  is  a  conjurer,  by  all  that's  holy !" 


28 


.  Next  day  another  of  the  three,  at  table, 

Attended,  with  some  fear,  you  may  suppose, 
Now  I've  got  two,  exclaim'd  he,  as  he  rose  ; 
Away  the  frighten'd  servant  goes, 
And  with  a  dismal  phiz, 
Exclaim'd,  the  man  a  wizzard  is, 
By  all  that  is  abominable  ! 
Well,  said  the  third,  this  does  look  serious  ; 
To-morrow  I  at  dinner  Avill  attend  him, 
And  should  the  devil  again  befriend  him, 
I'll  yield  the  ring,  if  he's  dispos'd  to  query  iu*. 

Now,  reader  (if  I  have  one)  you  may  think 
That  CRICKET  would  not  fail  to  eat  and  drink 

Most  manfully  on  this  occasion  ; 
Especially,  as  he  could  not  tell  where 
To  find  again  such  sumptuous  fare, 

Or  get  another  ration. 
When  he  had  made  the  most  of  it ; 
He  felt  inclin'd  to  boast  of  it, 
Thank  God,  said  he,  I've  got  all  three  of  them.' 

The  waiter,  now  convinced, 

Prone  on  his  knees  much  fear  evinced, 
(Troubles  at  hand,  and  wishing  to  be  free  of  them) 
Gave  up  the  ring,  and  proffer'd  all  their  savings, 


29 

If  he  would  so  contrive  it 
To  keep  it  from  their  lady  private, 
And  not  reveal  their  misbehavings. 

Poor  CRICKET,  puzzled,  mus'd  and  pinch'd  his  jaw- 
At  length  he  said,  with  sudden  cunning  struck, 
Catch  that  grey  goose,  the  sole  one  in  the  flock, 

And  force  the  ring  into  its  craw  ; 

And  then  inform  the  lady, 
That  I  am  ready 

The  wonders  of  my  art  to  show, 

For  what  her  bounty  may  bestow. 

Admitted — he  most  gravely  said, 
While  some  obsequious  bows  he  made, 
Good  madam,  by  my  art  I  know 
You  have  a  flock  of  geese,  say  ten,  or  so .; 

One  grey  one,  if  I  understand  the  thing  ; 
Among  some  oifals  she  has  snatch'd  it  up, 

And  in  her  crop 

You'll  find  the  ring  ! 

Still  thinking  his  pretensions  spurious, 

Yet,  sex-like,  being  somewhat  curious, 

She  bade  her  servants,  tho'  she  thought  it  cruel, 

To  kill  the  goose  j  and  there  they  found  the  jewel-, 


So  now  our  hero's  name  was  fairly  up, 

And  of  dame  Fortune's  wheel  stood  on  the  top ; 

But  while  he  in  the  place  sojourn'd, 

The  master  of  the  house  return'd, 

And  much  he  laugh'd  at  his  confiding  wife  ; 

And  thus  he  did  accost  her — 

"  The  fellow's  an  impostor  ! 
I'll  prove  it  to  his  teeth,  upon  my  life  !" 

Then  call'd  our  hero ;  who  attended,  trembling, 
While  the  proud  lord,  with  courteous  dissembling, 
Thank'd  him  for  services  so  promptly  render'd, 
And  then  a  plain  alternative  he  tender'd. 

"  Once  more  with  us,  sir,  you  must  dine, 
And  taste  our  viands  arid  our  wine  ; 

But  ere  we  take  our  seats,  I  wish, 

Since  you  can  conjure  so  adroitly, 
That  you  should  tell  what's  in  that  cover'd  dish, 

Now  tell  me  quickly — tell  me  rightly. 
And  if  you  can,  sir,  your  reward  I'll  double, 
And  pay  you  well,  besides,  for  all  your  trouble  > 
If  not,  your  prostrate  form  the  floor  sweeps, 
While  suffering  under  kicks  and  horsewhips." 


31 


Alas  !  exclaim'd  our  hero,  all  aghast — 
Unlucky  CRICKET,  thou  art  caught  at  last ! 

He's  right,  exclaim'd  the  lord ;  for  I  declare 
It  is  a  cricket  I  have  hidden  there  ! 
Such  wondrous  art  I  could  not  well  conceive 
But  now  I  beg  your  pardon — and  believe. 

So,  Mr.  CRICKET,  full  of  cash  and  fame, 
Departed,  richer,  happier,  than  he  came;. 


32 


THE  VACANT  CHAIR. 

O,  take  that  Vacant  Chair  away, 
Of  joys,  forever  lost,  the  token — 

O,  hide  it  from  the  eye  of  day, 

Before  this  widoMr'd  heart  be  broken  ! 

But  stay — may  not  her  spirit  still, 

Invisible,  yet  visit  there — 
With  beatific  influence  fill 

What  now  appears  a  Vacant  Chair? 

Most  lovely  of  thy  lovely  kind  ! 

I  will  indulge  the  waking  dream — 
Thy  virtues  and  thy  spotless  mind 

Embodied  here  already  seem. 

Embodied,  as,  when- gracing  earth, 
Thy  beauteous  form  unrivall'd  shone  ; 

Scarce  didst  thou  need  a  second  birth, 
Whom  Heav'n  had  fashion  M  for  its  own. 

Cold  rigid  Reason  forces  me 
To  recollect  thou  art  ethereal : 

Yet  Fancy  still  will  picture  thee 
As  mortal — charmingly  material — 


33 

Such  as,  when  first  thy  features  beamed, 
Like  fascination,  on  my  eyes, 

When  in  the  house  of  God  I  seem'd 
A  taste  of  heav'n  to  realise-^- 

Such  as,  when  with  a  tear  and  smile, 
That  might  the  coldest  bosom  move, 

Thy  candid  heart,  that  knew  no  guile, 
Accepted  of  a  soldier's  love. 

Such  as,  when  blooming,  tender,  kind , 
Thy  bridal  innocence  I  saw, 

When  the  HEART  strove  to  rival  MIND, 
When  thy  confiding  love  was  law. 

The  vision  grows  upon  my  sight- 
Angelic — but  yet  not  improv'd— 

For  heaven  cannot  make  more  bright 
That  form,  so  fervently  belovM. 

How,  precious  to  my  memory,  come 
The  pure  caresses  of  thine  arms  ! 

That,  in  the  blest  retreat  of  home, 
Bestow'd  a  paradise  of  charms  ! 

The  blush  of  love,  fresh  from  the  heart, 
The  chaste,  and  soft,  yet  ardent  kiss- 


34 

The  meek,  fond  eye,  that  said,  thou  art 
My  world,  my  all,  my  sum  of  bliss  ! 

For  virtue's  sake  I  still  will  deem 
Thy  lovely  image  present  there — 

I  will  not  think  it  is  a  dream — 
Nor  view  it  as  a  Vacant  Chair— 

For,  if  temptations  should  assail, 
And  vicious  inclinations  warm, 

Thy  guardian  spirit  would  not  fail 
To  shield  me,  in  an  angel's  form ; 

For,  when  in  battle's  deadly  strife 
My  palpitating  bosom  heav'd, 

Ambition  pointed  to  my  wife, 

And  thus  my  faltering  courage  sav'd. 

No  cowardice  nor  meanness  could 
Inhabit  where  thine  influence  reign'd  ; 

No  base  or  recreant  feelings  would 
Degrade  him,  who  thy  love  had  gain'd. 


My  daughter  !  thou  in  early  bloom 
Thy  mother's  beauty  dost  inherit— 


35 

May'st  thou  her  manners,  too,  assume, 
Her  mildness,  and  her  chasten'd  spirit. 

Then  thy  commanding  virtues  will 
Afford  a  claim,  a  title  there — 

For  nought  but  loveliness  must  fill 
That  idolized— that  Vacant  Chair ! 


THE  HYPOCHONDRIAC  CURED. 

A  man,  whose  weakness  was  in  part  too  real, 
(A  greater  part  tho'  was,  it  seems,  ideal) — 
Conceiv'd  he  was  too  feeble  for  exertion, 
And  loll'd  upon  his  sopha,  like  a  Persian. 

Though  nervous,  and  at  times  supine, 
He  was  net  one  of  those  who  whine, 
And  with  complaints  their  neighbors  tire ; 
And  to  be  pitied  rous'd  his  ire. 

A  good  well-meaning  aunt,  one  day, 

Spoke  kindly  to  him  as  he  lay ; 

"  My  dear,  I  fain  would  comfort  you— 

I  pity  you  ;  indeed  I  do  P' 

i 

Pity  me,  madam  !  said  he,  bouncing, 
About  the  room  in  anger  flouncing ; 
I  tell  you,  pity  is  my  loathing, 
I'll  be  respected,  or  be  nothing! 

Then,  strutting  like  a  new-made  major, 
He  strode  the  street,  as  if  on  wager ; 
Turn'd  corners,  dodg'd  with  much  agility, 
And  for  a  time  forgot  debility. 


37 
ADDRESS    TO    SPRING. 

BY  A  VICTIM  OF  CONSUMPTION. 


In  vain  gay  SPRING,  thy  budding  charms 
Salute  these  fading,  languid  eyes  ; 

Thy  genial  sun  no  longer  warms, 
To  me  in  vain  its  splendors  rise  ! 

Smil'st  thou  in  mock'ry,  wanton  SPRING, 
To  see  thy  rival,  YOUTH,  decline  ? 

Or,  smiles  for  others  dost  thou  bring, 
While  but  thine  April  tears  are  mine  ? 

Yet  know,  if  triumph  wakes  thy  song, 
If  exultation  prompts  thy  glee, 

The  voice  of  Faith  declares,  ere  long 
A  nobler  triumph  mine  shall  be  ! 

If  thou,  releas'd  from  Winter's  power, 
Sport'st  thy  short  hour  mid  flowery  toys, 

I,  too,  when  Death's  cold  night  is  o'er, 
Shall  wake  to  renovated  joys. 


38 

Then  shall  I,  soaring  from  the  tombs, 
Through  ether  speed  the  immortal  wing 

Where  an  unfading  Eden  blooms, 

Where  blossoms  one  ETERXAL  SVRING  ! 


39 


REAL  BEAUTY. 

All  symmetry  is  JULIA'S  face — 

Her  cheeks  all  bloom — her  forehead  lair — 
What  lips  !  what  eyes  ! — yet  I  can  trace 

But  little  real  beauty  there. 

LAURA  has  pass'd  youth's  earliest  prime, 
A  sweet,  though  not  a  blooming  flower  ; 

But  Laura's  charms,  invidious  Time  ! 
Defy  thy  beauty-spoiling  power. 

Without  fair  Julia's  lip  or  cheek, 

To  fascinate  the  sensual  eye, 
Laura's  diviner  beauties  speak, 

And  to  the  heart  resistless  fly. 

They  dwell  not  in  the  dimple's  place, 

Nor  in  the  eye's  seductive  roll ; 
They  shine  in  many  a  nameless  grace, 

A  bright  intelligence  of  SOUL. 

Happy  the  man,  whose  amorous  sigh 

That  breast  to  tender  thoughts  shall  move — 

On  whom  that  soul-illumin'd  eye 
Shall  beam  with  intellect  and  love. 


40 


ADDRESS  OF 

CETASIUM    the   WHALE,  to  GAS,  the  deliverer  of  his 
species.* 

Benignant  Power,  of  heav'nly  Science  born, 
With  light  to  bless,  and  beauty  to  adorn  ; 
Friend  of  the  finny  tribe  !  receive  our  praise, 
And  deign  to  hear  a  fish  extol  thy  rays  ; 
Nor  deem  this  tuneful  tribute  out  of  place, 
Since  whales  are  noted  for  a  spouting  race  ; 

\ 
Too  long  man's  beacon  fires  have  we  supplied  ; 

Too  many,  to  enlighten  him,  have  died  ; 
Too  long  our  spermacetic  heads  have  shown 
Benighted  man  the  dulness  of  his  own ; 

And  was  it  not,  O  GAS,  a  cruel  sight, 

When  our  own  substance  fed  the  sailor's  light, 
That  guided  murderous  whalemen  in  their  way, 
On  our  own  unoffending  tribe  to  prey  ? 

But  thou,  resplendent  GAS,  ere  long  shalt  reign, 
And  man  no  more  depopulate  the  main  ; 

*  An  allusion  to  the  use  of  Gas  Light,  instead  of  Whale  Oii 
and  Spermaceti. 


41 


Ungrateful  man,  whose  ancestor,  of  yore, 
We  safely  landed,  passage  free,  on  shore. 
Ere  long  thy  clear  and  unpolluted  fire 
Shall  save  our  race,  and  bid  the  world  admire  : 
Then  shall  the  sacred  Temples  holier  seem, 
And,  emulous  of  Heaven,  divinely  beam  ; 
What  rays  so  fit  to  light  the  wise  and  good, 
As  thine,  so  pure,  so  innocent  of  blood  ! 
Then  GENIUS  shall  (exulting  in  thy  light) 
Aided  by  thee,  attempt  a  loftier  flight ; 
And  SCIENCE,  glorying  in  his  offspring,  be 
Perpetuated,  multiplied,  by  thee  ; 

Rule  thou  forever,  and  all  earth  pervade  ! 
Pierce,  with  thy  subtle  fire,  all  nature's  shade  ! 
Guide  through  mid-air  thy  blazing  car  of  light, 
And  banish,  from  her  throne,  usurping  Night  ? 
Illume  the  path  of  navies  on  the  deep  ; 
In  Neptune's  azure  chambers,  where  we  sleep, 
Wake  us  with  brightness  : — To  salute  thy  blaze, 
High  the  prismatic  spray  our  tribe  shall  raise  ; 
Then  shall  the  meteor,  glittering  in  thy  beams, 
Reflect  thy  glory  in  a  thousand  streams  ! 

CETASIUM, 
Brazil  Banks,  20  fathom,  Feb.  10,  1817, 


42 


VERSE  IN  DISHABILLE. 

ON  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  MISS  JUNE,  AND  TllE  ARRIVAL  OF 
MR.    JULY. 

She  is  gone,  that  so  often  delighted  my  heart, 
With  the  graces  of  nature,  untutor'd  by  art : 
How  oft,  in  the  morning,  all  blushing  the  while, 
She  has  beckon'd  me  forth  to  the  fields  with  a  smile, 
And  led,  midst  the  charms  of  young  Summer,  so  bland. 
To  the  garden  that  flourish'd  beneath  her  fair  hand  : 
Where  the  ripe  cherry  glow'd  through  its  spangles  of 

dew, 

And  rival'd  her  lip  with  its  emulous  hue  ; 
Where  the  rose,  with  her  blushes  contested  the  prize, 
And  the  violet  strove  to  resemble  her  eyes" ; 
Where  the  vine,  like  her  tresses,  so  gracefully  wreatlvd, 
And  the  pink  caught  new  sweets  from  each  sigh  that 

she  breath'd. 

Ah  !  rich  were  the  fruits,  and  delightful  the  flowers 
That  she  strew'd  in  my  path,  and  hung  over  my  bowers  j 
But  the  sweetest  of  all,  and  the  gift  I  prefer, 
Was  my  own  blooming  MARY,  presented  by  her  ; 
%T\vas  she  that  first  brought  that  sweet  rose  to  my  view, 
That  blooms  on  my  bosom  with  charms  ever  new. 


43 


She  is  gone  !  mildest  daughter  of  Summer !  how  soon 
We  regret  the  departure  of  lovely  Miss  JUNE  ! 
And  still  more  to  vex  us,  there  comes  in  her  place 
A  hot  fiery  fellow,  with  wrath  in  his  face  ; 
His  fierce  glowing  eyes  ev'ry  corner  pervade, 
And  drive  us  all,  wiping  our  brows,  to  the  shade. 
He  whirls,  in  his  frolicks,  the  dust  in  our  eyes, 
And  scares  us  with  thunder,  an<f  plagues  us  with  flies ; 
His  name  is  JULY — and,  with  all  his  vagaries, 
He  is  good  ;  for  he  ripens  our  grain  and  our  berries  ; 
His  virtues  for  many  defects  make  amends  ; 
We  should  bear  with  his  faults,  as  with  those  of  our 

friends ; 

Besides,  what  we  yearly  remember  with  glee, 
Our  States  he  declar'd  independent  and  free  ! 
Then  hail  to  JULY,  of  sweet  JUNE  the  true  heir, 
Thus  the  brave  should  inherit  the  gift  of  the  fair. 


44 


THE  QUARRELS  OF  LOVE. 

Mark  ye  that  cloud,  whose  sudden  shade 
Succeeds  the  recent  smile  of  morn  ; 

Such  was  the  frown  of  my  dear  maid 
Whose  early  love  was  turn'd  to  scorn  ! 

Oh,  how  that  frown  did  chill  my  heart, 
And  quench  my  too  presumptuous  flame  ! 

Of  my  regret  how  keen  the  smart ! 

How  glow'd  my  burning  cheek  with  shame 

How  could  I,  with  unhallow'd  lip, 

That  bosom's  purity  profane  ? 
Or  dare  ambrosial  sweets  to  sip, 

For  which  e'en  Love  had  sued  in  vain  ?' 

Mark  how  that  cloud,  in  drops  of  pearl, 
Dissolves,  as  sun-shine  breaks  the  while  , 

So  wept  my  kind,  relenting  girl, 
When  penitence  regain'd  her  smile. 

Mark,  how  that  mild,  cerulean  hue, 
Expands,  amidst  retiring  shade  : 


45 

'Twas  thus  her  eye,  of  heav'nly  blue, 
All  her  returning  love  betray'd. 

Mark  too,  that  bow,  of  splendid  light, 
That  bends  o'er  earth  its  graceful  form, 

That  shines  so  cheering  to  the  sight, 

When  bursting  sun-beams  chase  the  storm : 

As  glows  that  signal,  from  above, 

Of  promis'd  peace  'tween  man  and  heaven. 
So  glow'd  the  blush  of  yielding  love, 

While  gently  murm'ring, 


TO  A  FRIEND. 


WHO  URGED  THE  AUTHOR  TO  PUBLISH  A  VOLUME  OF  HIS 
POEMS— IN  1816. 


Would'st  have  me  be,  as  some  have  been, 
'Mong  chap-books,  toys  and  ballads  seen, 

Cry'd  by  some  travelling  huckster, 
Or,  on  high  shelf,  with  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
And  other  works,  of  grace,  and  no  grace, 

Lumb'ring  some  village  book-store  ? 

How  oft  I've  seen,  (and  sigh'd  while  seeing) 
The  work's  of  many  a  luckless  being, 

A  Lorimel,  Meander,  or 
An  Alfred,  Leontine,  or  Damon, 
A  soft  Amyntor,  or  Philemon, 

A  Hermit,  or  a  Wanderer, 

All  in  some  dismal  corner  thrust, 
Wrapt  in  obscurity  and  dust, 

Worm-eaten,  mouldy,  rotten ; 
Alike,  they  and  their  authors  too, 
(Amidst  the  rage  for  something  new) 

Unheeded  and  forgotten ! 


Flatter'd  they  were,  no  doubt,  and  told" 
Their  works  would  pass  like  sterling  gold 

Of  currency  infallible  ; 
What  dire  heart-sinkings,  then  were  theirs, 
To  find  the  fruits  of  midnight  cares 

Neglected  and  unsaleable ! 

Unsaleable  !  0  "  startling  thought !" 
Written  for  sale,  and  never  bought ! 

And  not  to  raise  a  dollar  able  ; 
None  read — none  seek  on  loan  or  hire — 
None  buy — none  borrow — none  admire — 

O,  'tis  indeed  intolerable  ! 

O,  spare  me  but  this  fate,  kind  heaven  ! 
And  I'll  not  shrink,  though  Zoilus,  even, 

His  criticising  blow  aims — 
Place  not  my  works  to  sleep  for  ages, 
Where  never  belles,  beaux,  wits,  nor  sages 

Ask  for  *LOREXZO'S  Poems  ! 

Much  it  hath  griev'd  me,  I  am  sure, 

To  see  o'er  others'  works,  obscure, 

A  veil  of  cobwebs  thrown  ; 

-*  The  Author's  fictitious  signature. 


Then  how  much  more  'twould  prompt  my  sighs, 
To  see,  with  mj  two  living  eyes, 
Such  drapery  o'er  my  own  ! 

O  let  me,  then,  preserve  myself 
From  that  oblivious  corner  shelf- — 

From  Fame's  entire  stagnation—- 
Beyond my  verse  let  me  not  live — 
Let  not  the  grosser  MAN  survive 

The  BARD'S  annihilation ! 


49 


WHAT  IS  IT? 

'Though  'tis  the  softest  thing  in  nature, 
Its  wound  is  yet  a  sore  and  deep  one, 

And  deepest,  when  the  gentlest  creature 
(E'en  tender  WOMAN)  wields  the  weapon1] 

JTis  this  (when  ardent  lovers  sigh) 

Whose  slightest  motion  makes  them  blest : 

Yet,  afterwards,  from  this  they  fly, 
In  search  of  quietness  and  rest ! 

'Twas  this,  -that,  on  an  awful  time, 
Absolv'd  and  cheer'd  the  dying  thief; 

Yet  this  brands  innocence  with  crime, 
And  wrings  the  taintless  heart  with  grief ! 

'Tis  this  can  hush  the  sinner's  groan, 
And  lure  the  penitent  to  heaven  ; 

Yet  this  incongruous  thing  alone 
Commits  the  sin  that's  ne'er  forgiren  ! 


50 


MERCY. 

To  crown  Creation's  mighty  plan, 
The  Almighty  mandate  thunder'd  forth, 

•'  Let  procreant  Earth  produce  a  MAN  !" 
And  straight  the  creature  sprang  to  birth. 

Health,  strength  and  beauty,  cloth'd  his  frame  : 
He  mov'd  with  majesty  and  grace  ; 

A  bright,  a  pure  angelic  flame 
Illum'd  each  feature  of  his  face  : 

Upon  his  brow  sat  calm  repose, 

His  eyes  with  love  and  mildness  shone  ; 

Till  a  grim  band  of  imps  arose, 

And  mark'd  the  victim  for  their  own. 

There  ENVY  and  REVENGE  pourtray'd 
The  sullen  frown,  the  threatening  eye; 

There  curst  INGRATITUDE  display'd 
The  foulest  blot— the  blackest  dye. 

And  AVARICE,  ambitious,  too, 
To  stamp  her  odious  image  there, 


51 

Spread  on  his  cheeks  a  sallow  hue, 
And  wrinkled  marks  of  worldly  care. 

In  wrath  the  ETERNAL  view'd  the  stain, 
Which  marr'd  the  offspring  of  his  word, 

Spurri'd  the  weak  wretch,  with  high  disdain, 
And  bade  stern  JUSTICE  lift  her  sword ! 

But  MERCY,  Heaven's  loveliest  child, 
Imploring  knelt  before  the  throne — 

Alternate  prayed,  and  wept,  and  smil'd, 
With  angel  sweetness,  all  her  own — 

Then  turned  to  MAN,  with  kind  embrace, 
Lamenting  o'er  his  dire  decay ; 

Her  tears  fell  plenteous  on  his  face, 
And  wash'd  the  hideous  blots  away. 


BEST  CURE  FOR  TROUBLE. 

BEN  BRISK  a  philosopher  was, 
In  the  genuine  sense  of  the  word  j 

And  he  held  that  repining,  whatever  the  cause, 
Was  unmanly,  and  weak,  and  absurd. 

When  MAT  MOPE  was  assaulted  by  Trouble, 
Though  in  morals  as  pure  as  a  vestal, 

He  sigh'd,  and  exclaimed  "  Life's  a  Bubble/* 
Then  blew  it  away  with  a  pistol ! 

TOM  TIPPLE,  when  Trouble  intruded/ 
And  his  fortune  and  credit  were  sunk,, 

By  a  too  common  error  deluded, 

Drown'd  Trouble,  and  made  himself  drunk. 

But  BEN  had  a  way  of  his  own, 

When  grievances  made  him  uneasy ; 

He  bade  the  blue  devils  begone, 

Brav'd  Trouble,  and  made  himself  busy. 

When  sorrow  embitters  our  days, 

And  poisons  each  source  of  enjoyment ; 

The  surest  specific,  he  says, 
"For  Trouble  and  Grief  is — EMPLOYMENT. 


53 


The  following1  lines  were  hastily  written,  six  years  ago,  in  a 
moment  of  indignation,  on  reading  an  account  of  the  bru- 
tal flagellation  of  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  young 
Jady,  belonging  to  a  very  respectable  patriot  family  in 
Cumana,  S.  America,  by  the  Spanish  royalists,  in  1816, 
for  speaking  against  the  royal  government.  A  large 
negro  executed  the  punishment,  to  the  extent  of  about. 
200  lashes — to  give  full  effect  to  which,  he  gathered  and 
raised  her  long  and  beautiful  hair,  that  it  might  in  no  de? 
gree  shield  her  back  and  shoulders  from  the  stripes.  Du- 
ring all  this  time  she  was  bound,  naked,  upon  a  Jack-ass, 
and  moved,  with  occasional  halts,  through  the  city.  She 
refused  food  and  medicine,  and  died  soon  after,  from  mere 
grief  and  shame. 

THE  FEMALE  MARTYR. 

Now,  Spain,  to  thee  the  deadliest  Fiends  must  yield — 
Thy  cup  of  wrath  is  full — thy  curse  is  seal'd — 
Thine  earlier  crimes  excite  no  horror  now — 
Cain's  mark  were  glory,  to  thy  blotted  brow ! 

Detested  King  !  whose  feeble  hand  let  fall 
Thy  father's  sceptre,  at  the  invader's  call ; 
But,  when  restor'd,  whose  base  and  thankless  hands 
Lack'd  not  for  energy  to  smite  thy  friends  ! 
Before  thy  foes  a  recreant,  powerless  thing, 
But  to  thy  friends  a  monster  of  a  king. 

Let's  hear  no  more  of  tyrants,  old  or  new ; 
Here  stands  a  despot  paramount  to  view. 


54 


Others  have  done  vile  deeds,  for  viler  ends, 
Others  have  been  ungrateful  to  their  friends  ; 
Others,  like  him,  have  fired  the  bigot's  pile, 
And  shared  with  robbers  both  the  crime  and  spoil  ; 
Those  against  men  have  sinn'd,  with  high  offence, 
This  wars  on  Beauty,  and  on  Innocence  ; 

And  how  wars  he  ? — by  avarice  impell'd, 
Grasps  he  by  force  the  ornaments  withheld  ? 
Or,  mov'd  by  gross  desires,  does  he  employ 
Superior  strength  to  snatch  a  heartless  joy  ? 
Not  so— there  were  no  novelty  in  this, 
And  passion  were  some  plea  for  such  excess  ; 
His  are  no  vulgar  crimes,  no  common-place  ; 
He  aims  to  be  originally  base  ! 
And  well  'twas  aim'd,  when  his  unfeeling  horde. 
Well  train'd  to  represent  their  sovereign  lord, 
Amidst  Cumana's  thousands  coolly  stood, 
And  bath'd  the  ignoble  scourge  in  maiden  blood. 

Avenging  Heaven  !  When  shall  thy  wrath  awake. 
Thy  lightning  hiss,  thy  loudest  thunders  break  ? 
How  long  shall  sleep  thy  tyrant-blasting  curse, 
When  thy  best,  fairest  work,  is  mangled  thus  ? 

Exult  not,  monsters  !  there  will  come  a  time, 
As  sure  as  God  has  sworn  to  punish  crime, 


55 


When  from  each  drop  of  virgin  blood  shall  spring 
A  countless  host,  to  overwhelm  your  king.* 
One  finger,  rudely  raised  against  those  charms., 
Were  cause  enough  to  raise  a  realm  to  arms  ; 
What,  then,  when  naked,  mangled,  and  in  tears, 
Your  bleeding  victim  in  despair  appeals  ! 

Beholds  one  tearless  eye  this  cruel  sight  ?" 
Beats  there  one  heart  but  for  the  vengeful  fight  ? 
Moves  there  one  arm  but  with  the  Patriot's  sword  ? 
One  tongue,  but  to  pronounce  the  battle  word  ? 

Ye  Patriot  souls,  by  holy  ardor  fired, 
Though  Freedom  yet  had  not  your  souls  inspired, 
Though  all  that's  great  and  manly  still  had  slept, 
And  you,  still  slaves,  beneath  the  yoke  had  crept, 
This  bloody  consummation  might  suffice, 
To  shake  the  drowsy  torpor  from  your  eyes. 
Now,  strong  in  motive,  if  you  fail  in  deeds, 
If  all  in  vain  a  virgin  martyr  bleeds, 
If  this,  that  calls  on  all  that's  brave  in  man, 
Makes  you  not  heroes,  nothing  earthly  can  :-— 
Then,  grovelling  race,  unworthy  of  your  cause, 
Crouch  to  ypur  tyger  king,  and  lick  his  paws  ; 

*  This  has  since  been  almost  literally  verified. 


56 


And  when  yourselves  you've  labor'd  to  debase, 
The  world's  contempt  shall  finish  your  disgrace ! 
Then,  with  the  lapse  of  future  years, 
Shall  flow  our  northern  maiden's  tears, 
While  matrons,  shuddering,  shall  tell 
What  shame  Cumana's  maid  befel ; 
And  then  our  youths  shall  blush  to  know 
That  none  aveng'd  that  deed  of  woe  ! 

Perish  the  picture  !  Hence,  degrading  dream  ! 

Your  southern  climes  with  nobler  spirits  teem  ; 

Forgive  the  illiberal  doubt,  ye  gallant  souls  ; 

That  doubt  no  more  the  generous  heart  appals  ; 

Advance,  brave  Patriots  !  raise  the  standard  high 

Resolv'd  to  conquer,  or  prepaid  to  die  ! 
And  if,  in  all  your  suffering  land, 
One  lifts  the  sword  with  faltering  hand — 
If  one  among  you  seems  to  pause, 
Or  doubts  the  justice  of  your  cause  ; 

Ilold  to  his  dozing  eyes,  in  colors  strong, 

The  pictur'd  horror  of  Cumana's  wTong  ; 
Paint  the  virgin  martyr's  fate, 
"Victim  of  a  tyrant's  hate  ! 
Shew  the  taintless  blood  that  streams, 

Mingled  with  tear-drops,  down  her  lovely  limbs  I' 
Shew  the  dingy  fiend  that  grasps, 


57 


With  hands  profane,  her  beauteous  hair, 

The  swarthy  arm,  that  will  not  spare, 
But  plies  the  scourge  that  stings,  like  madd'ning  asps, 
That  polislrd  skin,  so  tender  and  so  fair ! 

Shew  the  anguish  in  her  face, 

Not  of  pain,  but  of  disgrace ; 
Shew  him  the  drooping  head,  the  cheek  of  flame, 
Signs  of  the  bursting  heart,  that  cannot  live  in  shame ! 

Quick,  seize  the  passions  as  they  kindle, 
Lead  him,  glowing,  to  the  foe  ! 

Let  not  the  swelling  spirit  dwindle, 
Now's  the  moment  for  the  blow  1 

Wave  the  picture  high  before  you, 
He  will  follow  in  the  path  of  glory — 

Vengeance  and  Freedom  be  the  cry  ! 

Now,  who  is  he  that  fears  to  die  ? 

Now,  charge  upon  those  ranks  unblesj, 

Close  let  the  myrmidons  be  press'd— 
And  to  the  God  of  Justice  leave  the  rest ! 

Degenerate  Spain  !*  What  guardian  power 

*  Thia  maledictory  apostrophe  to  Spain,  as  represented  by 
her  monarch  and  his  agents,  was  appropriate  enough  at  the 
time  this  was  written,  and  may  be  still.  But  at  present 
Spain,  as  a  nation,  is  in  a  fair  way  of  redeeming  her  character, 
and  atoning-  for  the  political  sins  committed  on  her  respon* 
sibility  by  the  soi-disant  legitimates  \rho  bare  been  forced 
upon  her  throne. 


58 


Shall  shield  thee  in  that  dreadful  hour  ? 
Call  not  on  Him  who  guards  the  just, 
To  shield  thee  in  this  cause  accurst ; 
Call  not  on  Man  to  sympathize  ; 
His  fervent  prayers  against  thee  rise ; 
While,  to  increase  thy  horror,  lo, 
Perch'd  on  the  banner  of  thy  foe, 
The  Spirit  of  the  murdered  Maid, 
In  heavenly-radiant  robe  array'd, 
With  cheering  smile,  and  accent  bland, 
Encourages  the  Patriot  band  ; — 
But  now  in  wrath  to  thee  it  turns, 
While  vengeance  In  Its  eye-ball  burns  -, 
And,  while  it  frowns,  its  blasting  breath 
Denounces  woe,  defeat,  despair,  and  death  ! 


59 


THE  TORMENTOR. 

A  persevering  plague  there  is, 
Which  sours  the  sweetest  cup  of  bliss, 

And  clouds  life's  brightest  sun  ; 
Of  happiness  the  worst  alloy  j 
The  mortal  foe  of  every  joy — 

Videlicit — a  Dun. 

Not  old  Medusa's  fabled  head, 

Whose  dreadful  eyes  could  turn,  'tis  saidj 

The  boldest  form  to  stone, 
E'er  quench'd  the  blaze  of  mirth,  or  tied 
With  magic  spell,  the  form  of  pride, 

Like  this  aforesaid  Dun. 

Hard  fares,  alas,  the  luckless  wight, 
Whose  steps  can,  neither  day  nor  night, 

This  rude  tormentor  shun  ; 
Who  at  each  comer,  crook  and  turn, 
Where'er  his  weary  feet  sojourn, 

Is  haunted  by  a  Dun  ! 

AMBITIOX  drops  her  busy  schemes  ; 
AV'RICK  awakes  from  golden  dreams  ; 
Blithe  WIT  abjures  his  fun  ; 


60 

PRIDE  sinks  his  bold  aspiring  crest ; 
E'en  potent  GENIUS  stoops,  oppressed, 
Before  the  mighty  Dun  ! 

Muse !  tell  how  oft  thy  angel  song 
Has  led  ray  captive  soul  along, 

With  more  than  mortal  tone  ; 
How  -I,  enctranc?d,  whilst  thou  hast  smil'd, 
Hare  wak?d — the  sweet  enhantment  spoil'd 

By  an  intruding  Dun  ! 


61 


MORTALITY  AND  IMMORTALITY 

What  is  this  BODY  ? — fragile,  frail 

As  vegetation's  tenderest  leaf — 
Transient  as  April's  fitful  gale, 

And  as  the  flasliing  meteor  brief. 

What  is  this  SOUL  ? — Eternal  Mind, 
Unlimited  as  Thought's  vast  range — 

By  grovelling  matter  unconfin'd  ; 
The  same,  while  states  and  empires  change. 

When  long  this  miserable  frame 
Has  vanish'd  from  life's  busy  scene, 

This  eai-th  shall  roll,  that  sun  shall  flame, 
As  though  THIS  DUST  had  never  been. 

When  suns  have  waned,  and  worlds  sublime 

Their  final  revolutions  told, 
This  SOUL  shall  triumph  over  Time, 

Aa«though  such  orbs  had  never  roll'd. 


62 


THE  DEVIL  FISHING. 

"ALZ  THE  -WORLD'S  ±" — FISH-POWD. 

Shakspeare  corrected. 

What  luck,  old  cloven-foot,  to  day  ? 

Said  I,  one  foggy  morning,       » 
As  he  threw  out  his  line  for  prey, 

Poor  mortal  folk  suborning. 

"  Not  much,"  quoth  he — "  but  what  I  have, 

Beyond  dispute,  is  fair  gain  ; 
With  notes  to  .shave  I  caught  a  knave, 

A  miser  with  a  bargain. 

To  catch  a  needy  beau,  I  took 

A  draggle-tail  surtout  ;* 
A  would-be  belle  found  on  my  hook 

A  tempting  full  dress  suit. 

I  caught  a  Congress-man,  by  dint 

Of  double  Compensation  ; 
A  Lawyer,  on  promotion  bent, 

By  timely  nomination. 

*  "When  this  was  written,  in  the  heat  of  Uie  season  of 
1816,  imperious  Fashion  burdened  the  beaux  of  the  day 
\vith  cloth  surtouts,  long-  enough  to  touch  the  pavement  I 


63 

These  Lawyers  are,  though  oft  you  wish 
(No  thanks  for't)  Satan  Ixad  'em, 

The  most  unprofitable  fish 
Of  all  the  sons  of  Adam. 

I  caught  a  Surgeon,  with  a  high- 
fed  subject  for  dissection  ; 

An  Office-hunter,  with  a  lie, 
Well  seasoned  for  Election." 

"  What  fish  bite  sharpest,  PUG  r"  said  I — 
"  Why,  as  to  that,"  quoth  he, 

"  I  find  not  many  very  shy, 
Of  high  or  low  degree. 

Your  toper  bites  well  at  a  cork, 

(When  there's  a  bottle  to  it ;) 
Your  Jew  will  even  bite  at  Pork, 

If  he  smell  money  through  it. 

Y^r  old  man  likes  a  parchment,  when 
BpHKp^e  some  one's  bitten  ; 

Your  youngster  likes  a  fresher  skin, 
Where  yet  there's  nothing  written. 


64 

*ome  shy  ones  play  about  the  line, 
'Till  prudence  waxes  feeble, 

And  those  at  last  are  often  miner 
Who  only  meant  to  nibble. 

There's  few,  indeed,  or  small  or  great. 

(Or  I  am  much  mistaken) 
But  may,  by  some  peculiar  bait, 

Be  tempted,  and  then  taken. 

But  there  is  one,  of  all  the  rest, 
AY  ho  most  employs  my  cook — 

The  IDLER  pleases  me  the  best — 
He  bites  the  naked  hook!'* 


65 


THE  WILDERNESS. 

There  is  a  wilderness,  more  dark 
Than  groves  of  fir  on  Huron's  shore  j 

And  in  that  cheerless  region,  hark  ! 
Ho\v  serpents  hiss,  how  monsters  roar  ! 

'Tis  not  among  the  untrodden  isles 
Of  vast  Superior's  stormy  lake, 

Where  social  comfort  never  smiles, 
Nor  sun-beams  pierce  the  tangled  brake  : 

Nor  is  it  in  the  deepest  shade 
Of  India's  tyger -haunted  wood  ; 

Nor  western  forests,  unsurvey'd, 

Where  crouching  panthers  lurk  for  blood  ;- 

"Tis  in  the  dark  uncultured  SOUL, 
%]Py  Education  unrefin'd — 
Where  hissing  Malice,  Vices  foul, 
And  all  the  hateful  Passions  prowl — 
The  frightful  WILDERNESS  of  MIND. 


"6 


66 


THE  MODEST  RETORT. 

A  supercilious  nabob  of  the  East, 

Haught,  being  great,  and  purse-proud,  being  rich, 
A  Governor,  or  General  at  the  least — 

I  have  forgotten  which — 
Had  in  his  family  a  humble  vouth, 

One  who  might  well  a  patron's  purpose  suit  ; 
An  unassuming  body,  and,  in  truth, 

A  lad  of  decent  parts,  and  good  repute. 

This  youth  had  sense  and  spirit ; 

But  yet,  with  all  his  sense, 

Excessive  diffidence 
Obscur'd  his  merit. 

One  day,  at  table,  flush'd  with  pride  and  wine, 
His  honor,  proudly  gay,  severely  merry,          ^ 

Conceiv'd  it  would  be  vastly  fine 
To  crack  a  joke  upon  his  Secretary. 

"  Young  man,"  said  he,  "  by  what  art,  craft,  or  trade. 
Did  your  good  father  gain  a  livelihood  r" 
"  He  was  a  Saddler,  sir,"  MODESTUS  said., 
"  And  in  his  line  was  reckon'd  good." 


67 


"  A  Saddler,  eh  !  and  learn'd  you  Greek, 
Instead  of  learning  you  to  sew  ! 

Pray,  why  did  not  your  father  make 
A  Saddler,  sir,  of  you?" 

Each  parasite,  then,  as  in  duty  bound, 

The  joke  applauded,  and  the  laugh  went  round. 

At  length  Modestus,  bowing  low, 
Said  (craving  pardon  if  too  free  he  made) 
"  Sir,  by  your  leave,  I  fain  would  know 
Your  father's  trade  r" 

"  My  father's  trade  ! — by  heaven,  that's  too  bad  ! 
My  father's  trade  ! — why  blockhead,  art  thou  mad 
My  father,  sir,  did  never  stoop  so  low ; 
He  was  a  Gentleman,  I'd  have  you  know." 
"  Excuse  the  liberty  I  take," 

Modestus  said,  with  archness  on  his  brow — 
""  Pray  why  did  not  your  father  make 
A  Gentleman  of  you  ?'l 


68 


LINES 

ADDBES9ED    TO    A    SCHOLAR    OF    A    CHAEITT    SCHOOL,  TAVOHT    A\I> 
COT£BX£D    BT    LADIES. 


A  demon  waited  thy  ill-omen'd  birth — 

?T\vas  IGXORAXCE  ;  who  watch'd  thy  natal  hour — 

Till  feminine  benevolence  stood  forth, 

And  snatch'd  thee,  child  of  penury !  from  his  power. 

So  lurk'd  the  dragon  at  the  woman's  side, 
(By  sainted  eyes  in  holy  vision  seen) — * 

To  seize  his  unborn  victim  gaping  wide, 

Till  Angels  thrust  their  heavenly  shields  between  ? 

Such  are  thy  guardians  !  Each  benignant  hand 
That  rescued  thee,  is  scarcely  less  divine  : 

Blest  is  thy  birth-place — blest  the  favor'd  land, 
"Where  BEAUTY  ministers  at  VIRTUE'S  shrine. 

*  Rerelation  of  St.  John— Chap,  sii,  ver.  4,  7,  8. 


69- 


ODE  TO  VANITY. 

Thou  cloak  of  fur,  that  keep'st  me  warm 
Amidst  adversity's  rude  storm, 

And  shield'at  me  from  the  worldling's  frown— 
Thou  canopy,  that  spread'st  thy  shade, 
When  malice  kindles  o'er  my  head, 

And  pours  it's  hottest  fury  down — 

Thou  spirit,  gay  and  volatile, 

That  promp'st  the  self-complacent  smile, 

And  sport'st  thy  Protean  shapes  around  me— 
More  comfort  do  I  find  in  thee 
Than  in  demure  philosophy, 

When  sharp  vexations  wound  me. 

In  vain  may  critics  under-rate, 

And  deem  my  talents  short  of  weight, 

When  thou  with  partial  scales  art  nigh ; 
When  lifted  by  thy  buoyant  spirit, 
I  cannot  fail  to  feel  my  merit, 

Though  all  the  world  decry  ! 

'Tis  true,  thou  send'st  me  castle -building, 
And  mock'st  me  oft  with  tinsel  gilding, 
And  Jead'st  me  oft  to  false  conclusions ; 


Yet,  when  fatigued  with  plodding/iwtf, 
And  when  with  dry  reflection  rack'd, 
I  love  to  court  thy  sweet  illusions. 

Thy  last  fond  dream  was  (to  be  frank) 
A  mischievous,  bewitching  prank, 

As  sportive  fairy  ever  play'd  ; 
Thou  didst  persuade  that  LAURA'S  eye 
To  my  fond  gaze  made  soft  reply, 

And  more  than  friendship's  warmth  betray'd  j 

But  'twas  no  thought  of  me,  the  while,. 
That  lighted  up  that  angel  smile 

Upon  her  lovely  face ; 
'Twas  but  the  mingled  glow  of  sense, 
Vivacity  and  innocence, 

That  gave  the  inimitable  grace. 

Transient  as  joyous  was  that  dream  ; 
But  0  !  its  raptures  were  supreme 

As  could  be  felt  by  frail  mortality  : 
There  was  such  bliss  in  that  short  hour 
Of  fancy's  visionary  power — 

'Twas  worth  an  age  of  dull  reality  i 


71 


LINES, 


:TO    A    YOrSB    LADT,     AVITH    BEAUTIFUL    EYIS,    BUT   AFFIICTM) 
BY  A  FLORID  HUMOR  IN  THE  LOWER  PAHT  OF  HER  FACE. 


Lament  not,  sweet  STELLA,  that  colors,  too  florid, 
For  a  moment -unjust  prepossessions  convey  ; 

Those  eyes,  at  the  base  of  that  fine  ample  forehead, 
Ev'ry  blemish  eclipse  by  their  brilliant  display. 

Each  glance  is  full  charg'd  with  the  weapons  of  love  ; 

(In  a  diffident  whisper  I  venture  to  breathe  it) — 
With  such  pow'rful  artillery  playing  above, 

No  wonder  the  parapet  suffers  beneath  it. 


PIRACY. 


During  the  late  war  between  America  and  England,  a  pilot 
boat  left  Charleston,  S.  C.  for  New  York,  with  Mrs.  Al- 
ston, lady  of  the  Governor  of  that  state,  and  daughter  of 
Col.  Aaron  Burr.  The  ensuing  weather  was  favorable, 
but  the  vessel  did  not  arrive.  She  was  supposed  to  have 
been  taken  by  the  enemy.  .Even  this  hope  was  at  length 
necessarily  relinquished.  And  the  boat  and  all  in  her 
were  given  up  for  lost,  until  more  than  five  years  after, 
when  a  pirate  confined  at  New  Orleans  confessed  himself 
to  have  been  one  of  the  pilot  boat's  crew,  who  mutinied, 
confined  the  captain  and  passengers  below,  plundered  her, 
and  scuttled  her,  and  saw  her  go  down,  after  they  had 
taken  to  the  boat — and  this  in  the  dead  of  the  nig-ht ! — 
Mrs.  Alston  was  one  of  the  most  accomplished  and  lovely 
females  in  our  country. 

Scarce  doth  a  star,  or  lunar  beam, 
Cast  on  the  wave  a  transient  light ; 

But  through  the  clouds  a  fitful  gleam 
Just  shows  the  gloomliness  of  night- 

Yet'innocence  and  beauty  dwell 
Beneath  yon  deck,  in  soft  repose  ; 

Cradled  by  Ocean's  gentle  swell ; 

Fann'd  by  the  breeze  that  mildly  blows. 

One  well  might  hope,  in  such  a  scene, 
The  Passions,  too,  might  calmly  rest; 


73 

But  e'en  when  Ocean  is  serene, 

Storms  rage  within  the  human  breast ! 

What  forms  demoniac  leave  her  side, 
Like  outlaws  from  the  dusky  den  ? 

Like  imps  they  hurry  o'er  the  tide  ; 

Shame  on  my  race  !  These  imps  are  MEN 

Plunder  began  and  Murder  ends 

'  This  tragedy,  this  hellish  deed  ! 
Downward  the  scuttled  vessel  tends, 
And  none  the  shrieking  victims  heed. 

JSiO  human  ear  regards  that  cry^ 
No  breast  reciprocates  that  sigh  ! 
But  callous  hearts  repel  the  sound, 
As  echoes  from  the  rocks  rebound. 

But  Heaven  is  just,  and  in  due  time 
Will  bring  to  light  these  sons  of  crime  ; 
Then  vindicate,  O  Man,  thy  race  ; 
Then  JUSTICE,  shew  thy  sternest  face  1 

If  one  to  mercy  shall  incline, 
Great  God,  that  mercy  must  be  thine  ; 
Thine  for  their  Souls — while  they  atone 
To  man,  for  deeds  of  horror  done. 


74 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  WINTER. 

In  languid  Spring  I  mope  and  yawn, 

And  feel  not,  if  I  see  its  charms  ; 
I'm  glad  that  scorching  Summer's  gone, 

And  Autumn's  pestilential  liarms. 

But  welcome  WINTER  !  thee  I  hail, 

"Whose  breath  my  frame  with  vigor  braces ; 

Whose  roses,  borne  on  every  gale, 
Grace,  not  our  gardens,  but  our  faces  ! 

Thy  fire-side  comforts — 0,  how  sweet ! 

Where  the -domestic  group  is  seen  ; 
Where  Cheerfulness  and  Virtue  meet, 

And  Heart  and  Intellect  convene  : 

But  chiefly,  LAURA,  where  thy  face 

Its  living  eloquence  displays, 
Whose  bright  intelligence  and  grace 

Too  often  tempt  my  ardent  gaze. 

Though  clouds  in  fleecy  torrents  break, 
Though  Boreal  blasts  impel  the  storm  ; 

Thy  animating  smiles  can  make 
Ev'n  a  Siberian  winter  warm. 


75 


THE  TRIAL  OF  TIME. 

EXTRACT  FROM  A  NEW  TEARS  ODE  FOR  1817". 

i{  Stop,  stop  that  fellow  !"   cry'd  a  thousand  tongues — 
•'  That  perpetrator  of  unnumber'd  wrongs  !"— 

I  saw  the  fugitive,  with  rapid  pace, 
Stride  o'er  the  ground,  as  one  defying  space. 
Some   coax'd^some    threaten'd — some    t'arrest    him 

swore — 
In  vain — for  TIME,  once  past,  returns  no  more  ! 

What  could  their  worships  do,  in  such  a  case  ? 
Why  try  him,  to  be  sure,  "par  contumace!" 

The  WORLD,  by  counsel  deeply  learn'd  in  laws, 
Opens  the  weighty,  interesting  cause — 
Heavy  the  charges — many  the  complaints 
Of  misers,  spendthrifts,  epicures  and  saints, 
Of  flippant  youth,  and  querulous  old  age, 
Against  this  wrong'd,  this  persecuted  Sage. 

Old  Rackrent,  with  much  earnestness,  deposes, 
How  the  sly  culprit  undermines  his  houses  ; 
\Vhilst  Orgius  on  the  bible  testifies 
How  TIME  has  damag'd  both  his  limbs  and  eyes  ', 


76 


And  starch'd  miss  Vesta  swears  assault  and  batterv, 
The  marks  of  which  defy  the  Mirror's  flattery  ; 
Witness  that  face,  with  cruel  wrinkles  branded, 
Witness  deserted  bloom,  and  teeth  disbanded  ! 

Lean  Shylock  counts  lost  faculties,  a  hundred, 
The  chief  one,  Memory,  by  the  culprit  plundered  ; 
In  witness — once  (by  poverty  disguised) 
His  very  father  was  not  recognised  ! 
So  ruin'd  was  the  store -house  of  his  mind, 
A  golden  key  alone  could  access  find  : 

A  Poet,  famous  once  for  pleasing  rhyme, 
Complain'd  that  fancy's  fire  was  quench'd  by  TIME 
A  Printer,  poorly  paid  for  all  his  news, 
Declar'd  the  culprit  had  outlaw'd  his  dues  ; 
And  many  a  worlding  said,  his  very  soul 
Was  put  at  hazard  by  his  stern  control, 
Stating  how  oft  he  had  resolv'd  to  fit 
Himself  for  Heaven — but  TIME  would  not  permit ! 

But  why  each  several  witness  should  we  name, 
When  multitudes  so  clamorously  blame  ? 
The  World  conspires  to  overwhelm  the  accus'd, 
So  little  valued,  and  so  much  abus'd. 
Tis  not  old  TIME,  alone,  that  plays  the  devil, 
For  he,  they  say,  has  train'd  a  brood  to  evil : 


77 


Declining  commerce,  debts,  short  crops,  taxation, 
Costs,  sheriff's  fees,  and  every  vexation, 
Specie  so  scarce,  and  paper  so  redundant, 
Good  deeds  so  rare,  and  robberies  so  abundant ; 
In  short,  what  dire  calamities  and  crimes 
Are  not  attributed  to  these  "  bad  times  ?" 

Who  pleads  for  the  accused  ? — Will  no  one  speak  ? 
«'  Yea,"  answers  one,  benevolently  meek, 
Whose  plain  drab  beaver,  with  capacious  brim, 
Shades  two  mild  eyes  that  with  good  nature  beam — 
Prudent  as  Age,  and  generous  as  Youth — 
"  I,  Candor,  eldest  born  of  holy  Truth,— 
I  speak  for  Time,  though  all  the  world  accuse  him  ; 
He  is  my  friend,  for  I  do  not  abuse  him. 
As  for  old  Rackrent's  tenements,  decay'd, 
Twas  Time  matur'd  the  wood  of  which  they're  made  j 
Shall  Orgius'  story  weigh  with  court  or  jury, 
Who  testifies  with  such  malicious  fury  ? 
Shall  he  gain  credit,  who  has  spent  his  prime 
In  one  continued  effort  to  kill  Time  ? 
'Tis  not  th'  accus'd,  but  Dissipation,  deals 
The  most  of  those  infirmities  he  feels  : 
And  Vesta's  wrinkles,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
Are  more  than  half  by  Spleen  and  Envy  done  ; 
Those  charms  Time  ripen'd,  had  she  well  improv'd, 


78 


His  gentlest  finger  o'er  those  charms  had  mov'd  : 

Shvlock  of  ruin'd  faculties  has  told — 

True,  he  retains  but  one — to  count  his  gold  .l 

Learn,  mortals,  hence,  that  Time  will  never  spare 

The  wealthy  votary  of  sordid  care  : 

The  Poet's  fire,  for  all  his  fine  pretence, 

From  want  of  fuel  cools — or  indolence  : 

As  for  the  Printer,  with  his  scatter'd  debts, 

I  cannot  blame  him  greatly,  if  he  frets — 

Tho'  time  was  not  in  fault — Then  pray  who  was  ?- 

Can  any  of  his  Patrons  guess  the  cause  ? 


— But  who  are  these,  whom  TIME  will  not  allow 
To  think  of  high  concerns  while  here  below  ? 
Do  they  expect  (deluded  men,  and  blind) 
To  find  a  dread  ETERNITY  more  kind  ? 

Ye,  who  would  thrust  the  Accus'd   from   Mercy's 

door, 
Where  rest  your  hopes  when  'Time  shall  be  no  more  r 

Ye  grumbling  throng,  to  morbid  vision  prone, 
Time's  faults  are  not  reflected,  but  your  own  ! — 
Luxurious — idle — speculating  elves  ! — 
Would  ye  have  better  Times  ? — then  mend  yourselves .' 


79 


What  think  ye,  sirs — is  this  not  quite  severe  ? 
It  may  be  so— but  then  'tis  true,  I  fear. 

What's  your  opinion  now,  of  the  Accus'd  ? 
If  Candor  sways  your  judgment,  you'll  acquit  him  ; 

If  not,  let  him  who  never  Time  misus'd, 
Lift  the  first  stone,  with  guiltless  hands,  and  hit  him  ! 


80 


SOLITUDE. 

I  knew  a  man,  whose  solitude 
Beyond  all  parallel,  was  lonely  ; 

A  blank  and  cheerless  scene  he  viewM, 
And  saw  a  desert  only  : 

Yet  there  were  crowds  of  human  FORMS, 

Around  this  novel  hermit ! 
How  shall  we  solve  this  paradox  ?— 

(Enigma,  you  may  term  it) 

Why,  though  our  hermit  was  among. 

The  crowd — he  liv'd  apart ; 
For  there  was,  in  that  motley  throng, 

Not  one  congenial  HEART. 


SI 


TRUE  GLORY. 

WARRIOR,  I  mark  thine  anxious  eye, 

I  see  impatience  on  thy  brow  ; 
War's  banner  waves  no  more  on  high,. 

And  all  is  dull  and  peaceful  now  ! 

Insipid,  to  thy  pamper 'd  taste. 

Are  "  dull  pursuits  of  civil  life" 

For  sharper  fare  thy  stomach's  brac'd, 
And  craves  a  high  spic'd  dish  of  strife  ! 

Would'st  fight  a  host  ?  I'll  show  thee  one, 
Compos'd  of  thy  most  deadly  foes  ; 

Would'st  meet  a  giant  ?  There  is  none 
More  stout  than  one  whom  I'll  propose. 

Now  gird  thy  burnish'd  sabre  on, 
Rouse  all  that's  militant  about  thee  ; 

Or  those,  who  will  be  here  anon, 

(Thy  PASSIONS)  will  be  sure  to  rout  thee. 

What  bands  of  Vicious  Appetites 
These  leaders  marshal  in  the  field  ! 

And  will  thy  band  of  stripling  knights, 
(Thy  feeble  VIRTUES)  never  yield  ? 


O,  trust  not  tkese  alone — but  call 
For  GRACE,  a  powerful  ally  ; 

Then  shall  thine  adversaries  fall, 
Thy  stoutest  foes  submit  or  fly  f 

If  still  thy  martial  spirit  glows, 

A  single  Champion  stalks  in  view— 
The  giant  Chief  of  all  thy  foes — 


83 


LOVE  AND  REASON. 

As  I  left  fair  PRUDELIA  one  evening,  quite  late, 

From  LOVE  what  a  lecture  I  got ! 
"  That  icicle  still  do  you  woo  for  a  mate? 

Alas,  how  I  pity  your  lot ! 
She  is  fair,  you  say — granted  ;  and  prudent — agreed ; 

She  is  both  rn  extreme,  I  must  own  ; 
But  heartless,  inanimate,  frigid — indeed, 

Pd  as  soon  court  a  statue  of  stone." 

Convinc'd — to  Ardentia  I  offerd  my  suit ; 

And  REASON  then  took  me  to  task — 
"  That  girl  may  adore  you,  beyond  all  dispute, 

But  is  love  all  you  seek,  may  I  ask  ? 
If  that  eye  beams  affection,  as  fondlv  you  say, 

It  also  can  kindle  with  rage  ; 

And  that  head,  which  a  sculptor  might  wond'ring  sur- 
vey, 

Is  by  no  means  the  head  of  a  sage." 

My  forward  advisers,  said  I,  in  a  pet, 

You're  mighty  fastidious,  forsooth  ! 
Pray  each  of  you  shew  me  what  game  I  shall  set, 

And  faith  I'll  make  love  to  them  both. 


84 


Here,  LOVE,  take  this  pencil,  and  mark  for  my  flame, 

Some  one  in  your  circle  of  beauty ; 
And,  REASON,  write  elsewhere  your  favorite  name, 

And  then  I'll  endeavor  to  suit  ye. 

What's  this  ?  Sure  the  world  is  approaching  its  end. 

For  Reason  and  Love  both  agree  ! 
The  fair  Medlana  they  both  recommend, 

As  a  treasure  allotted  to  me. 
This  said — to  the  fair  one  I  made  my  best  bows, 

And  found  her  both  prudent  and  kind  ; 
With  dignified  grace  she  accepted  my  vows, 

The  grace  of  the  Heart  and  the  Mind. 

Affection  tlirew  over  each  feature  a  charm, 

While  Intellect  brighten'd  the  whole ; 
Her  voice  the  most  stoical  bosom  might  warn*, 

For  it  breaith'd  all  the  music  of  Soul. 
What  lasting  enjoyment  can  woman  bestow, 

WThere  Reflection  and  Judgment  approve, 
O,  blest  be  the  moment  that  brought  me  to  know 

The  union  of  Reason  and  Love  ! 


85 


The  following1,  though  rather  out  of  date  as  to  the  matter 
which  occasioned  it,  may  be  worth  preserving  for  its  good 
natured  expression  of  strong  national  sentiment.  It  was 
occasioned  by  the  motion  of  a  worthy  member  of  Congress, 
in  1816,  to  make  some  alteration  in  the  United  States 
National  Flag-. 

TO  THE  CONGRESS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES THE  (NOT 

HUMBLE)  PETITION  OF  THE 

«  STRIPED  BUNTING." 


High  waving,  unsullied,  unstruck,  PROUDLY  shewelh, 
What  each  friend,,  and  each  foe,  and  .each  neutral  well 

knoweth, 

That  your  lofty  Petitioner  never  descends, 
At  the  call  of  her  foes,  nor  the  whim  of  her  friends  ; 
The  air  is  her  element — there  she  remains, 
*Bove  the  vapors  of  earth  and  the  vapor  of  brains  ; 
Her  path  is  ethereal — high  she  aspires, 
Her  stripes  aloft  streaming,  like  Boreat  fires  ; 
They  stream  to  astonish,  dismay,  or  delight, 
As  the  foe  or  the  friend  may  encounter  the  sight. 
On  the  Mediterranean,  had  you  been  present, 
And  seen  them  display'd  o'er  the  infidel  Crescent, 
The  terror  of  ev'ry  piratical  knave, 
But  hail'd  and  acclaim'd  by  the  honest  and  brave— 


86 


In  that  region  so^lear,  in  that  sky  so  serene, 
Those  stars,  in  ascendancy  bright,  had  you  seen, 
Your   thoughts   from   their   glory   would   never  have 

ranged, 
Nor  dreamt  that  fix'd  stars,  like  the  moon,  could  be 

changed. 

When  o'er  the  red  cross  of  the  humbled  Guerriere 
Vour  Petitioner  hover'd — then  was  she  not  dear  ? 
.So  bright  was  your  flag,  and  its  stars  so  resplendent, 
So  well  it  became  the  victorious  ascendant, 
That  the  crew  of  Old  Iron-sides  swore,  with  hearts  full, 
"T\vas  the  best  tiling  about  her,  excepting  her  HULL! 

By  the  fame   of  your  Jackson,  Boyd,  Ripley,  and 

Scott, 

Who  beneath  your  Petitioner  bravely  have  fought — 
By  their  naval  compeers,  each  illustrious  name     - 
That  has  made  your  Petitioner  sacred  to  Fame — 
By  the  spirit  of  Lawrence,  unyielding  in  death, 
Whose  concern  for  her  glery  employ'd  his  last  breath — * 
By  all  that  has  claim  to  your  love  and  respect,     M 
She  adjures  you  to  save  her  from  shameful  neglect. 
Then  shall  your  Petitioner,  dear  to  the  brave, 
As  in  honor  bound,  ever  triumphantly  wave. 

•*"  Don't  give  up  the  ship" — or,  don't  strike  the  Bunting1. 


DREAMING  AND  WAKING. 

I  had  a  slumber — short  and  fitful — 

Too  wild  to  soothe — too  brief  for  rest—- 
And then  a  dream — (O,  how  delightful ! ) 
My  wandering  faculties  possess'd. 

Now,  I'm  awake — but  melancholy — 

And  bitter  recollections  prove 
My  sleep,  a  fit  of  doting  folly — 

My  dream,  a  fickle  woman's  love ! 


The  following  was  written  as  a.  rebuke  to  a  particular  young 
lady,  who,  as  the  author  now  believes,  did  not  deserve  it 
so  much  as  appearances  then  induced  him  to  believe.  But 
as  there  are  perhaps  some  of  the  sex  who  do  deserve  it,  it 
is  thought  that  it  may  be  well  to  record  it  as  a  standing  ad- 
monition. 

TO  AN  AFFECTED  HEIRESS. 


Believe  me,  young  lady,  those  airs  you  display, 
Are  not  so  enchanting  as  you  may  imagine  ; 

You  may  frown — but  an  old  fellow  ventures  to  say, 
He  thinks  you,  without  them,  are  far  more  engaging. 

He  has  seen  you  (when  NATURE  and  Feeling  bore  sway, 
When  Flirting  and  Coquetry  kept  their  due  distance) 

Intelligent,  candid,  and  modestly  gay, 

With  graces  that  needed  from  Art  no  assistance. 

But  now — 0  how  chang'd ! — How  repulsive  that  stare, 
Which  affects  to  forget,  or  remembers  to  slight  one  > 

I  know  not  your  motive — but  this  I  declare, 

If  you  angle  for  worth.  Miss,  your  hook's  not  the  right 


89 


When  I  saw  you  at  hornet  and  observ'd  what  you  could 

be, 

Your  wealth  seem'd  intrinsic — (I  knew  of  no  more) — 
When  I  see  you  abroad,  and  perceive  what  you  would 

be, 
Though  I  hear  of  your  riches,  you  seem  to  be  poor. 

To  conclude — let  me  say,  without  temper  or  malice, 
Though  flirting  may  take  well  with  fopp'ry    and 
dotage, 

Men  of  spirit  will  turn  from  Caprice  in  a  palace, 
While  Candor  and  Kindness  will  charm  in  a  cottage. 


90 


LINES 

WRITTEN  TO  A  YOUNG  tADY  VERY  FOND  OF  DRESS. 

In  early  life  I  knew  a  girl, 

Supplied  with  toys  abundant ; 
But  in  one  box  a  glittering  pearl 

To  her  appeared  redundant. 

The  gaudy  casket  that  contained 

The  jewel,  fixed  her  eyes ; 
And  much  those  eyes  she  often  strained, 

To  scan  its  various  dyes. 

While  thus  with  childish  pride  amused. 

The  pearl  neglected  lay  ; 
A  watchful  knave  the  occasion  used 

To  filch  the  gem  away. 

Oh,  blooming  maiden !  deign  to  hear 

A  senior's  admonition ; 
And  let  external  show  appear 

The  least  of  thy  ambition. 


91 


While  such  anxiety  you  feel 
To  view  that  form  so  nice ; 

Satan,  that  lurking  thief,  may  steal 
The  pearl  of  mighty  price. 


92 


NEW  YEAR'S  REFLECTIONS, 

A  NEW  YEAR  ! — and  pray  what  is  new. 
With  him,  or  her,  or  me,  or  you  ? 

Dear  reader,  let's  consider : 
Would  it  be  new,  if  Vice  were  still 
Riding  on  Fortune's  splendid  wheel, 
With  Virtue  trudging  at  her  heel, 

And  Conscience  up  for  highest  bidder  ? 

Pray,  what  is  new  ?  Are  any  less 
Extravagant,  in  food  or  dress  ? 

Are  Old  Yearns  habits  mended  ? 
Rears  Pride  less  high  her  towering  crest  ? 
Js  Malice  banish'd  from  each  breast  ? 

And  is  the  reign  of  Avarice  ended  ? 

Has  Idleness  been  driven  hence  ? 
Has  folly  yielded  to  good  sense  ? 

Has  vile  Intemperance  departed  ? 
Has  Vanity  now  ceas'd  to  tickle  ? 
Are  Prudes  less  prim,  or  Flirts  less  fickle, 

Or  Coquettes  more  true  hearted  ? 


93' 

Does  the  Mechanic  cease  to  fret 
Over  the  long  unsettled  Debt, 

Due  from  the  rich  delinquent  ? 
Can  Printers  yet  escape  from  care, 
And  hope  for  punctual  payment,  where 

Their  labor  and  their  ink  went  ? 

Does  Time,  with  swift  and  steady  pace, 

A  less  unprofitable  race 

Pursue,  this  year,  than  all  may  trace 

In  years  that  have  preceded  ? 
And  when  he  points  to  that  great  sea, 
A  shoreless,  vast  Eternity, 

Is  the  dread  signal  heeded  ? 

If  not,  alas  !  what  is  there  new, 
That's  worth  a  thought  to  me  or  you, 

Or  cause  for  gratulation  ? 
'Tis  but  the  dull  old  story  o'er ; 
The  moment's  new,  and  nothing  more ; 

Time  has  but  chang'd  his  station. 

That  happy  New  Year  that  should  find 
A  heart  renew'd,  a  purer  mind, 


94 

Improving  time  and  talents  here — 
Should  such  a  time  reach  me  or  you, 
That  were  a  moment  rich  as  new — 

That  were,  indeed,  a  blest  NEW  YEAR  I 


95 


TO  MY  PEN. 

Come,  passive  servant  of  my  will, 

Thou  restless  busy-bod v — meddling  elf! 

Come,  fill  thy  thirsty  throat,  come,  drink  thy  fill, 
And  write  an  ode. — To  whom  r — Why,  to  thyself! 

"Myself!"  methinks  I  here  thee  quickly  cry — 
"  Myself !  turn  egotist  too  ? — no,  not  I — 

I'd  sooner  serve  a  laureat  to  a  king  ; 
Sooner  would  I  in  words  like  oil,  so  smooth, 
Pronounce  a  villain  great,  his  conscience  sooth, 

Or  tarnish  innocence — (a  common  thing  !) 
Though,  by  the  by,  to  me  it  would  be  new, 
None  have  /blemisk'd — I  appeal  to  you." 

No,  faithful  Pen,  thou  ne'er  did'st  place 
A  blush  on  modest  beauty's  face  ; 
Nor  hast  thou  nam'd  a  villain  great, 
Nor  stain'd  a  worthy  name  with  veuom'd  hate. 

But  why  'gainst  egotism  dost  thou  strive  ? 
Tiiou'rt .  ot  tie  only  s'ilf -praisM  wight  alive — 
Authors,  whose  volumes  long  have  grac'd  the  shelves. 


96 


And  scribbling,  language-murdering  poetasters, 
Mock  satirists,  pedantic  scholars,  masters, 
If  none  will  laud  them — why  they  praise  themselves  ! 

Though  but  the  offspring  of  a  simple  goose, 
None,  like  thyself,  can  tell  thy  wond'rous  use ; 
Write,  then  !  inform  the  world  (the  town  at  least) 
That  thou'rt  to  me  more  welcome  tlian  a  feast- 
Inform  how  oft,  by  light  of  taper, 
Thou'st  travel 'd  o'er  whole  fields  of  paper ; 
How  oft,  with  him  on  old  Pegasus, 
Thou  'st  scal'd  the  cliffs  of  steep  Parnassus, 
Or,  led  by  his  aspiring  mind, 
Leapt  on  the  clouds,  and  rode  the  wind ! 

Ah,  humbling  thought ! — ye  sages,  'tis  no  joke, 
(Although  the  assertion  may  your  pride  provoke) 
A  Homer's  fire,  a  Pope's  poetic  flame, 
A  Franklin's  wisdom,  and  a  Newton's  fame, 
All  streams  of  science,  simple  and  abstruse, 
Flow  thro'  this  member  of  the  silly  goose  !  ! 

*  *  #  *  •£  .;. 

In  truth,  I  think  thou  art  my  firmest  friend, 
•On  thee,  at  least  with  safety  I  depend, 


97 


Though  oft  thy  form,  sans  mercy,  I  abuse,; 
For  when,  in  studious  mood,  the  muse  unkind, 
I  sit,  while  roars  the  hoarse  nocturnal  wind, 

My  teeth  thy  tender  body  sorely  bruise. 

All  this,  and  more,  my  friend,  thoii'rt  doomM  to  bear, 
For  oft  on  thee  some  rhymester's  fingers  fall, 
And  force  thee  ('gainst  thy  will  no  doubt)  to  scrawl 

Some  fulsome  Rebus,  sickening  to  the  ear! 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

When  Pride  on  me  shall  cast  her  lowering  eye, 

And  Plutus'  fav'rites  pass  in  silence  by ; 

When  sneering  pedants  scorn  my  youthful  strains,    ' 

And  cold  neglect  shall  chill  my  ardent  veins ; 

Tired  and  disgusted  with  the  "  world's  dread  scorn,'" 

To  thee,  for  consolation,  I  will  turn. 

And  when  in  earth  the  founder'd  poet  lies, 

"The  world,  relenting,  will  no  more  despise ; 

Some  kind  surviving  friend,  perhaps,  may  then 

Esteem  the  labours  of  my  faithful  Pen. 
February  Mil,  1800. 


98 


AFFECTATION  REBUKED. 

Said  ANN  to  her  mother  (affecting  to  pout) 

"  That  impudent  man  I  detest ! 
I  can't  show  my  face,  within  doors,  or  without, 

But  I  meet  the  full  gaze  of  that  pest ! 

Don't  you  think,  my  dear  'ma,  that  a  few  hours  ago, 
After  passing  him  (would  you  believe  it  r) 

He  turnM  himself  round,  and  he  stared  at  me  so — 
So  steadily — none  can  conceive  it !" 

"  Be  cautious,  my  child,  there  is  company  here — 
And  you  may  for  imprudence  be  blamed — 

Who  told  you  of  all  this  impertinence,  dear  r" 
"  Why  I  saw  it,  and  was  so  ashamed  !" 

"  Beware  affectation,  and  vanity  too," 

The  mother  replied,  with  a  smile — 
"When  you  saw  him  so  steadily  looking  at  you, 

Pray  where  did  you  look,  all  the  while  r" 


99 


PLATONIC  LOVE. 

O,  Lady,  spare  this  throbbing  heart ! 

'Tis  frail — 'tis  weak — but  'tis  not  free — 
Not  that  I  dream  of  any  art 

To  lure  that  worthless  heart  from  me ; — 

But  still,  unconscious  of  all  guile, 
Thou  mays't  excite  forbidden  sighs, 

By  the  sly  rougery  of  that  smile, 
By  the  arch  glances  of  those  eyes — 

By  that  unstudied,  native  grace, 

That  cheers,  warms,  blesses  all  around  j 

By  that  bright,  animating  face, 

And  by  that  tongue's  bewitching  sound — 

But,  chiefly,  by  the  force  of  thought, 
The  sportive  wit,  the  ready  mind, 

Are  the  sweet  fascinations  wrought, 
That  my  enchanted  senses  bind. 


A  dear  one  claims,  and  well  deserves 
My  bosom's  mansion,  and  its  stores — ' 


100 

But,  hospitably,  still  reserves 
A  room,  when/n'mt/s  approach  its  doors. 

A  chamber  in  my  heart  remains, 

Free  for  the  good  and  fair—- 
When my  sweet  friend  a  visit  deigns, 

She'll  find  a  welcome  there. 


101 


CARE. 

Hail,  zest  of  pleasure ! — pepper d  sauce — no  worse — 
Thou  art,  indeed,  like  wormwood — but  no  curse— 

'Tis  fact,  I  will  attest,  though  critics  growl ; 
Thou'rt  not,  indeed,  so  pleasant,  quite,  as  custard  ; 
But  who'd  dispense  with  pepper,  ginger,  mustard, 

Because,  forsooth,  they  make  an  infant  scowl  r 

Who  would  not  smile,  to  hear  a  son  of  dust, 
(Lamenting  sore  that  some  licentious  gust 

Had  swept  his  crop)  thus  Providence  beseech : 
"  Let  Sol's  bright  rays  in  ceaseless  radiance  pour 
Upon  my  corn — and  let  fell  rain  no  more 

In  hostile  showers  my  growing  barley  reach  !"' 

Reader,  suppose  some  wight,  no  matter  who— 
(The  thing  is  possible — -;tis  common  too) — 
Should  thus  lament,  in  bitterness  of  soul ; 
"  How  fine  that  prospect !  Row  sublime  !  how  grand ! 
T\vould  seem  like  some  enchanted  fairy  land — 
But  yon  huge  mountain  (curse  it1.)  spoils  the  whole!'' 

The  man's  a  fool,  thou  sayest — be  it  so — 
Thou  art  the  man,  my  friend,  for  aught  I  know ; 
•9 


102 

Though  on  my  conscience,  sir,  I  mean  no  harm ; 
Perhaps  thou  ne'er  hast  urgM  thy  solemn  prayer 
That  heaven  from  thee  would  drive  unwelcome  Care, 

And  place  thee  where  no  anxious  thoughts  alarm. 

As  when  a  vessel,  with  propitious  gales, 
On  Ocean's  calm  expanse  unfurls  her  sails, 

Each  day  rolls  on,  a  dull  insipid  round ; 
Anon  the  awful  tempest  loudly  roars, 
While  through  the  gloom  the  rushing  torrent  pours, 

And  clamorous  voices  aggravate  the  sound  : 

But,  safe  in  port  arriv'd — all  danger  flown — 
Momus,  more  jovial,  now  resumes  his  throne  j 

The  past  adventure  wakes  the  soul  to  bliss ; 
With  double  relish  Tom  tips  round  the  bowl ; 
Jack  fondly  meets  the  idol  of  his  soul ; 

Past  Care  adds  pleasure  to  the  greeting  kiss. 

"  Begone,  dull  Care!"  mistaken  mortals  cry — 
"  Far  from  our  breasts  to  other  regions  fly ; 

Let  soft  repose  upon  our  bosoms  rest." 
From  vexing  Care  the  sullen  cynic  flees 
To  gloomy  shades,  and  scenes  of  fancied  ease, 

And  vents  the  effusions  of  his  spleen-struck  breast. 


103 

From  thee,  O  Cure!  (as  though  thou  wert  a  ghost) 
The  tippling  gentry  to  the  tavern  post, 

And  drown  their  senses  and  their  reason  there ; 
Behind  the  shield  of  Bacchus,  from  thy  face 
The  thoughtless  drunkard  seeks  a  hiding  place, 

And  makes  himself  a  beast,  to  'scape  from  Care  ! 

Why  shrinks  the  mortal,  frighten'd,  from  thy  view  ? 
Thou  art  not  always  comely,  it  is  true  ; 

But  still  thy  form  I  never  wish  to  shun  : 
To  whate'er  feast  of  earthly  bliss  I  look, 
I  see  thee  acting  as  the  foremost  cook ; 

Where  thou  art  not,  all  true  enjoyment's  done. 

E'en  childhood  has  its  Care — the  sportive  throng 
Try  who  plays  best,  who's  nimblest,  who  most  strong-; 

E'en  here  AMBITION  actuates  the  mind ; 
Oft  riper  age  thev  act  (without  its  vice) 
One  apes  the  soldier;  one  the  beau,  so  nice  ; 

And  even  here  we  may  instruction  find. 

The  youth,  ascending  from  his  childish  sport, 
On  manhood's  verge,  to  thee  prefers  his  court, 

Surveys  his  breast,  and  finds  all  vacant  there  ; 
A  novel  passion  then  usurps  control, 
Subdues,  directs,  and  animates  his  soul — 

He  loves — and  plunges  in  a  sea  of  Care ! 


104 

Arriv'd  at  manhood's  prime,  true  bliss  is  found ; 
The  liveliest,  sweetest  Cares  of  life  surround ; — 

A  tender  offspring  claims  the  fostering  hand  j 
Here  all  is  center'd — here  the  grand  pursuit, 
"  To  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot," 

And  bid  the  mind's  progressive  power  expand. 

For  what,  to  man,  was  reason's  treasure  given, 
Why  was  he  made  the  noblest  work  of  heaven, 

But  to  be  active,  and  improve  his  mind  ? 
Who,  that  could  walk,  would,  like  a  reptile,  creep  ? 
Who,  that  could  think,  would  waste  his  life  in  sleep? 

Or  grovel,  worm -like,  to  the  dust  confin'd  ? 

Reader  !  of  similes  I'm  always  full — 
We  Poets — (faith,  I  almost  made  a  bull) — 

We  scribblers,  then,  with  these  are  much  in  love ; 
Listen — I've  one — 'twill  prove  beyond  a  doubt, 
That  those  who  would  this  self-same  Care  root  out, 

Reject  a  blessing  sent  them  from  above. 

When  some  clear  stream,  obstructed,  crooked,  bubbling, 
Here  flowing  smooth,  there  rocks  its  progress  troubling, 

Flows  clear  as  crystal,  sweet  as  morning  dew ; 
Remove  the  rocks — a  straighter  course  direct — 
Let  all  be  smooth — be  all  its  bubbling  check'd — 

And  lo !  a  stagnant,  nauseous  ditch  we  view  ! 


105 

Thus  flows  the  stream  of  life — its  varied  course 
Now  gently  murmuring,  now  in  torrents  hoarse, 

Oft  intercepted  by  "perplexing  CARE  ;" 
This  care  dispel — anxiety  remove— 
The  breast  is  cold— the  heart  forgets  to  love — 

Life  stagnates — pleasure  vanishes  in  air  ! 

Then  cease,  ye  sons  of  fiction,  to  pourtray 
CARE  with  a  squalid  face,  and  hair  like  hay ! 

On  her  no  more  with  rueful  visage  stare ; 
I'll  stand  her  champion,  'gainst  each  scribbling  elf ; 
She  is  the  salt  of  life — aye,  life  itself — 

And  Death  is  nothing  but  the  want  of  CARE  ! 

March  I,  1800, 


106 


THE  RUINS. 

/ 

I've  seen,  in  twilight's  pensive  hour, 

The  moss-clad  dome,  the  mouldering  tower, 

In  awful  ruin  stand  ; 
That  dome,  where  grateful  voices  sung, 
That  tower,  whose  chiming  music  rung, 

Majestically  grand ! 

I've  seen,  'mid  sculptured  pride,  the  tomb 
Where  heroes  slept,  in  silent  gloom, 

Unconscious  of  their  fame ; 
Those  who,  with  laurel'd  honors  crownM, 
Among  their  foes  spread  terror  round, 

And  gain'd — an  empty  name  ! 

I've  seen,  in  Death's  dark  palace  laid, 
The  ruins  of  a  beauteous  maid, 

Cadaverous  and  pale  ! 
That  maiden  who,  while  life  remain'd, 
O'er  rival  charms  in  triumph  reign'd, 

The  mistress  of  the  vale. 

I've  seen,  where  dungeon  damps  abide, 
A  youth,  admir'd  in  manhood's  pride, 
In  morbid  fancy  rave ; 


107 

He  who,  in  reason's  happier  day, 
Was  virtuous,  witty,  nobly  gay, 
Learn'd,  generous  and  brave. 

Nor  dome,  nor  tower,  in  twilight  shade, 
Nor  hero  fallen,  nor  beauteous  maid, 

To  ruin  all  consign'd — 
Can  with  such  pathos  touch  my  breast 
As  (on  the  maniac's  form  impress'd) 

The  Ruins  of  the  MIND  ! 


108 


WHERE  CAN  IT  BE  ?* 

Says  Tom  to  a  trav'ler,  "I'm  feasted  to  death 
'Mong  these  people  so  social  and  hearty  ; 

I  am  always  engaged,  without  time  to  take  breath, 
At  some  dining  or  evening  party. 

I  came  (while  my  thirst  for  improvement  was  raging) 

To  allay  curiosity's  itching; 
But  my  time  is  all  spent  with  these  lads  so  engaging, 

And  these  sociable  girls  so  bewitching. 

I  acknowledge,  indeed,  Hospitality's  power 
The  stranger's  enjoyments  to  sweeten  ; 

But  there  is  a  distinction  (I  feel  it  each  hour) 
Between  being  cherish'd  and  eaten. 

I  love  the  kind  souls — but  it  gives  me  concern, 

In  this  sweet  dissipation  to  dip  so, 
For  any  thing  solid  I  never  can  learn 

In  this  modern  domain  of  Calypso." 

•This  trifle  \vas  not  written  in  spleen,  but  in  perfect  good 
nature,  as  a  merry  joke  upon  a  town  rather  remarkable  for 
-•eserve  to  strangers . 


109 

Go  with  me,  said  the  other — a  little  way  south, 
Where  two  beautiful  streams  form  a  junction, 

Is  a  smart  little  town ;  you  may  there  spend  your  youth, 
Unmoved  by  your  present  compunction. 

The  girls  are  most  fair ;  but,  in  mercy,  reserv'd ; 

Or  too  meek  and  too  modest  to  know  it ; 
The  lads,  tho'  with  spirits  magnanimous  nerv'd, 

Are  too  unassuming  to  shew  it. 

In  that  pleasant  town  you  may  safely  remain, 

Disengaged,  unmolested,  a  stranger ; 
\nd  I'll  forfeit  my  life,  sir,  if  there  you  complain 

Of  extreme  Hospitality's  danger ! 


10 


IfO 


THE  JOURNEY  OF  LIFE. 

Who  that's  condemn 'd,  with  heavy  load, 
To  trudge  along  life's  dreary  road, 
Would  not  rejoice  at  every  stage 
That  realis'd  the  hopes  of  age  ? 

The  hopes  of  age  !  some  may  reply — 
"What  hopes  in  age  can  we  descry  ? 


1  I'll  tell  you,  friend — in  childish  years 
We  travel  in  a  vale  of  tears — 
In  youth,  amid  seductive  flowers, 
We  revel  in  temptation's  bowers  ; 
In  manhood,  wild  and  fierce  desires, 
Beneath  us  rage,  like  JEtna's  fires. 


But  age  in  sober  prospect  shows 
A  calm  retreat,  where  all  repose — 
Where  all  life's  toils  and  troubles  close — 
Where  wicked  arts  no  more  molest — 
And  where  "  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

Why,  then,  should  we  not  all  rejoice, 
With  grateful  hearts  and  cheerful  voice, 


. 


Ill 

At  every  resting  place,  where  we 
In  retrospect  past  dangers  see, 
And  where  the  conscious  pilgrim  knows 
His  progress  to  his  blest  repose  ? 

But  ere  fond  hopes  shall  warm  the  breast 
With  thoughts  of  that  long  wish'd-for  resl^ 
Let  Reason  and  Religion  ask, 
Have  we  perform'd  our  daily  task  ? 
Have  we  in  seasonable  hours 
Gathered  our  share  of  fruits  and  flowers 
To  make  our  final  offering,  where 
We  seek  repose  from  worldly  care  ? 
Have  we,  in  smooth  or  rugged  land, 
To  neighbors  reachrd  a  helping  hand  ? 
Have  we  our  faculties  improv'd, 
And  glean'd  all  fields  through  which  we  rov'd  : 

Jf  so— then  welcome  we  arrive 
Where  rival  hosts  no  longer  strive — 
Where  Peace  and  tranquil  Rest  await 
The  weary  pilgrim  at  the  gate  : 

If  not — stern  justice  frowns  severe  j 
Uids  rigid  Conscience  straight  appear; 


112 

And  to  his  thorny  grotto  yields 
The  idle  loiterer  o'er  life's  fields. 

Then  let  us  gather,  as  we  go, 
Where  foilage  spreads,  or  waters  flow. 
Due  tribute  for  an  offering,  where 
Oblivion  banishes  all  care  ; 
And  at  our  annual  resting  places, 
Let  travellers,  with  cheerful  faces, 
Rejoice  that  one  long  stage  is  past, 
In  hopeful  progress  to  the  last. 


113 


GIVE  NO  HANDLE. 

Says  JACK  (whose  imprudence  had  lost  him  a  friend) 

"  I  cannot  conceive,  for  my  life, 
Why  he  slights  me— unless,  as  Tnow  apprehend, 

'Tis  because  I  once  gave  him  a  knife. 

A  knife  will  cut  love,  it  is  gen'rally  said, 
(And  if  all  the  world  lies,  'tis  a  scandal.") 

Says  TOM,  "  you  might  safely  have  given  the  blade, 
But  you  should  not  have  given  a  HANDLE," 


10- 


114 


THE  WINTER'S  NIGHT. 

The  thick'ning  shades  of  night  appear — 
Hoarse  breathes  the  wintry  storm  afar — 

Hark  !  from  the  sea-beat  shore  I  hear 
The  din  of  elemental  war. 

Fierce  on  my  roof  the  rattling  hail 
Its  glassy  flood  tremendous  pours  ; 

The  tempest  bellows  in  the  vale, 
Aloud  the  bending  forest  roars. 

Yet,  while  convulsive  Nature's  groan 
Rocks  Earth  upon  her  trembling  pole, 

A  smile,  dear  girl,  from  thee  alone, 
Imparts  calm  sunshine  to  mv  soul. 

No  wealth  have  I — nor  fame — nor  power — 
Though  rich  enough  if  lov?d  by  thee— 

Yet  thousands,  in  this  dreadful  hour, 
Would  give  all  these  to  fare  like  me. 

'What  numbers,  on  the  troubled  deep, 
Remote  from  friends,  from  kindred  dear, 

For  wives  belov'd,  desparing  weep, 
For  children,  drop  the  bitter  tear ! 


115 

Sate — shelter'd  from  the  dismal  storm — 
Love's  chastest  sweets  my  breast  inspire, 

While  in  my  cot,  so  snug  and  warm 
We  sit  around  the  cheerful  fire. 

How  throbs  my  heart  with  purest  joy, 
While,  mid  these  scenes  of  mutual  bliss, 

Witli  winning  smiles  our  infant  boy 
Implores  the  fond  maternal  kiss. 

O,  let  me  clasp  thee  to  my  breast 
And  meet  affection's  cheering  smile, 

In  chaste  allurements  lull  to  rest 
My  cares,  my  sorrows,  and  my  toil. 

We'll  trim  the  brisk  enlivening  fire, 

Nor  dread  the  wind  that  round  us  blows  ; 

Till  sleep  shall  bid  our  thoughts  retire 
To  pleasing  dreams,  or  soft  repose. 


116 
LINES 

WRITTEN  IN*  BEHALE  OF  OKE  WHO  WAS  IN  A   LOVE-FIT. 

Frown  not,  lovely  girl,  on  the  muse 

Who  would  plead  for  a  captive  of  thine  ;. 

Nor  with  coldness  repulsive,  refuse 
His  off 'ring  at  Beauty's  fair  shrine. 

Need  that  passion  in  language  be  dress'd, 
For  her  in  whose  presence  he  bows  ? 

O,  have  not  his  eyes  long  express'd 
What  now  his  presumption  avows  ? 

'Twas  not  that  fine  form,  charming  girl, 

Alone,  that  attracted  his  eye ; 
Nor  yet  the  luxuriant  curl 

That  play'd  on  thy  forehead  so  high ; 

Neither  was  it  that  delicate  swell 

That  gracefully  rounded  thy  chin  ; 
Nor  those  lips  where  twin  Cupids  might  dwell, 

Nor  the  rose -dew  (untasted)  between  : — 

'Twas  the  ligltf  of  that  soul -beaming  glance 
That  glows  with,  intelligent  fire, 


117 

Whose  mixture  of  goodness  and  sense 
Compell'd  his  proud  heart  to  admire. 

O,  think,  if  thy  captive  was  charm'd 

With  that  look,  which  no  passion  did  move, 

How  his  heart  with  delight  might  be  warm'd 
By  a  beam  of  reciprocal  love  .' 

HOPE,  (flattering  gypsey !)  once  said 
"  Go,  woo  her,  and  win  for  thy  pains  ; 

Though  youth's  vernal  season  has  fled, 
Thy  summer  of  manhood  remains." 

DESPAIR,  in  his  muttering  tone, 

Attempted  to  raise  a  debate — 
When  he  said,  "  let  the  matter  alone — 

Her  next  glance  shall  determine  my  fate.'* 


118 


THE  SAILOR. 

"  The  wary  sea-bird  screams  afar — 
Along  the  wave  dire  omens  sweep—* 

From  the  veil'd  sky  no  friendly  star 
Beams  on  the  undulating  deep. 

Hark  !  from  the  cliffs  o£  distant  shores 
The  Lorn*  emits  his  dismal  cry — 

The  wave  portentous  warning  roars, 
And  speaks  the  threatening  tempest  nigh. 

What  guardian  angel's  watchful  power 
Shall  snatch  me  from  the  angry  deep, 

Or  bid,  in  that  tremendous  hour, 
The  demon  of  the  waters  sleep? 

Or  who,  if  on  some  desert  wild 

I  drift,  weak,  famish'd  and  distrest, 
Shall  hush  the  sorrows  of  my  child, 
Or-  sooth  LAVINIA'S  wounded  breast  ? 


*  The  Lorn,  according  to  St.  Pierre,  is  a  dismal  kind  of  bird, 
which,  especially  on  the  approach  of  a  storm,  perches  on 
the  cliffs  and  promontories  of  the  shore,  and  utters  a  noise 
like  the  shrieks  of  &  drowning  person. 


119 

Sweet  objects  of  my  early  lovfe 

For  you  with  aching  heart  I  mourn ; 

Far  from  your  peaceful  vale  I  rovCj 
Ah !  hopeless  ever  to  return  ! 

Yet,  should  it  be  my  happy  lot 

To  hail  again  my  native  shore, 
Secure  within  my  humble  cot, 

I'll  brave  the  restless  deep  no  more." 

His  prayer  was  heard — the  rolling  bark 

Rode  through  the  storm  with  stubborn  pride 

And  WILLIAM,  blithe  as  morning  lark, 
Flew  to  his  sweet  enraptured  bride. 

Yet  WILL,  with  love  and  liquor  warm, 
Ere  yet  a  month  had  pass'd  in  glee, 

Forgot  the  terrors  of  the  storm , 

And,  singing,  squared  away  for  sea ! 


120 
AMERICAN  TRIBUTE, 

PROMPTLY   PAID. 

At  an  earlier  time 

It  was  reckon'd  no  crime, 
(Though  now  we  such  measures  prohibit) 

To  tickle  the  paws 

Of  the  Barb'ry  Bashaws, 
With  a  snug  little  handful  of  tribute. 

So  a  smart  Yankee  ship 

Now  and  then  they'd  equip, 
Whate'er  it  might  cost  them  to  rig  it ; 

And  our  good-natur'd  folks 

Sent  our  fine  native  oaks 
\broad,  as  an  Algerine  frigate  ! 

Thus,  instead  of  the  stars 
That  should  wave  from  our  spars.. 
Her  peak  bore  the  infidel  Crescent ; 
But  they  soon  thought  that  one, 
Fraught  with  ballast  alone, 
no  satisfactory  present. 


121 

So,  while  we  fought  Britain, 

That  moment  they  hit  on, 
T»  attack  us  with  wonderful  bravery; 

And  by  way  of  broad  hint, 

To  shew  what  they  meant, 
They  carried  our  tars  into  slavery. 

And,  now  we  have  leisure 

To  study  their  pleasure, 
And  something  to  spare  of  our  lumber ; 

Since  one  ship,  in  ballast, 

Won't  soften  their  malice, 
For  peace  sake,  we  send  them  a  number! 

And  good  store  of  guns, 

To  try  if,  for  once, 
To  gratitude  we  can  awake  'em ; 

And  men,  in  abundance, 

Strong  fellows,  and  sound  ones, 
They  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  take  'em .' 

Our  pris'ners  to  ransom, 
We  send  something  handsome, 
In  metal,  undoubtedly  current; 

11 


122 

Amd  powder,  in  potions, 
And  similar  notions, 
That  will  cure  their  distemper,  we  warrant. 

Already  the  Dey 

Is  much  better,  they  say, 
Having  voided  a  couple  of  vermin .' 

And  the  doctor  supposes 

A  few  more  such  doses 
His  obstinate  case  will  determine. 

Such,  such  is  the  TRIBUTE 

We  Yankees  exhibit, 
On  every  trying  occasion  ; 

If  this  don't  convince 

The  Barbarian  Prince, 
He  is  past  all  the  art  si  persuasion  1 

August  8th,  1815. 


*A  frigate  and  a  brig  captured  by  the  American  Squad- 
ron. 


123 


THE  TREBLE  VOICE. 

That  voice — O,  how  its  warblings  thrill 

Each  nerve  with  rapture,  while  I  hear ! 
"Wliile  every  earthly  thought  is  still, 
And  none  but  purest  pleasures  fill 
My  senses,  crowding  at  ray  ear. 

Hark — how  it  swells ! — so  swells  my  soul 
With  joy  exalted,  pure  and  holy ; — 

It  rises  ! — Earth,  thy  base  control 
I  spurn  !  Adieu,  vain  world  of  folly ! 

For  I  disclaim  all  grovelling  joys — 
I  feast  on  sound — I  live  on  song— 

I  rise,  immortal,  with  that  voice, 

To  heaven,  where  all  such  strains  belong ! 

In  tender  cadence  now  it  falls — 

Breathes  gently  through  the  sacred  dome- 
Like  the  angelic  tone  that  calls 

A  kindred  spirit  to  its  home. 

"Tis  ended — but  the  lovely  strain 
Still  sweetly  dwells  on  Fancy's  ear; 


124 

Mortal  I  find  myself  again, 
I  know  it  by  this  starting  tear. 

'Tis  not  my  present  sense,  alone, 

That  wakes,  sweet  LAURA,  at  thy  song  ; 

But  images  of  pleasures  flown 

Around  the  seat  of  Memory  throng. 

And  then  I  think  of  other  days, 

When  one,  with  heart  as  pure  as  thine, 

Beside  me  rais'd  the  hymn  of  praise, 
And  blended  all  her  soul  with  mine. 

Sing  on,  fair  warbler ! — O,  restore 
The  dear  illusion  to  my  view ! 

To  sooth  my  widow'd  heart,  once  more 
The  dream  of  past  delights  renew. 


125 


LOVE  AND  LUST. 

LUST,  like  a  ravenous  tjger,  springs 
With  savage  gust,  upon  its  prey, 

And  on  the  lovely  object  brings 
The  marks  of  ruin  and  decay. 

LOVE,  like  the  bee,  with  gentle  power, 
Extracts  the  honey  of  delight, 

Sips  every  sweet,  nor  wounds  the  flower 
On  which  its  tender  pinions  light. 

Lust,  like  a  devastating  fire, 

Embraces  only  to  destroy ; 
And,  in  the  fervor  of  desire, 

Blasts  every  comfort,  every  joy ! 

Love,  like  the  genial  sun  of  May, 
Emits  its  kind  refreshing  beams,  v 

Drives  each  intruding  cloud  away, 

And  o'er  life's  landscape  gaily  gleams. 

Lust,  like  a  mighty  deluge,  pours 
Dismay  and  terror  where  it  flows ; 


126 

Poor  victims  shudder  while  it  roars, 
And  wake  to  horror  from  repose. 

Love,  like  the  gently  winding  rill, 

Glides,  peaceful,  through  this  varied  scene- 
While  every  boisterous  care  is  still- 
Ami  all  is  tranquil,  all  serene. 


127 


THE  DEATH  OF  LOVE. 

Young  LOVE,  elate  with  hope  and  fond  desire, 
Elastic,  buoyant,  sported  o'er  the  lawn — 

Breath'd  on  the  dewy  rose  her  amorous  fire, 
And  gave  fresh  incense  to  the  Summer's  dawn. 

How  pure  the  heart  that  heav'd  the  unconscious  sigh ; 

How  blush'd,  unknown  to  guilt,  that  dimpled  cheek : 
How  chaste,  and  yet  how  ardent,  was  that  eye, 

Whose  tender  glances  more  than  words  could  speak ! 

How  I  admir'd,  when  LOVE'S  alluring  form 
Rose,  like  some  heavenly  vision,  to  my  sight, 

And  on  a  statue  lean'd  her  graceful  arm, 

That  should  have  warm'd  the  marble  with  delight  I 

0,  fatal  touch !  the  frosty  contact  chill 'd 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  her  heart, 

Life's  subtle  fluids  to  their  source  congeal'd, 
And  spread  an  icy  death  o'er  every  part ! 

O,  say — what  demon  lurk'd  in  ambush  there, 
Whose  deadly  malice  could  so  fata}  prove  ? 

What  fiend  could  paralyse  a  form  so  fair  ? 
— It  was  NEGLECT — the  mortal  foe  of  LOVE  ! 


128 


THE  GENEROUS  NEGRO. 

An  English  gentleman  and  his  lady  were  on  board  of  a  vessel 
in  convoy,  bound  to  the  East  Indies.  While  on  a  visit  te 
the  admiral's  ship  (having  left  two  children  in  the  care  of  a 
young  black  servant)  a  sudden  storm  separated  the  fleet. 
The  vessel  had  foundered,  and  was  fast  sinking ;  the 
boat  along  side  was  crowded  with  terrified  fugitives,  who 
refused  to  admit  the  sen-ant  with  the  children.  The 
faithful  creature  placed  them  in  the  boat,  and  remained 
and  sunk  with  the  ship. 


Tremendous  howls  the  angry  blast ; 

The  boldest  hearts  with  terror  quake  ; 
Against  the  vessel's  tottering  mast 

The  liquid  mountains  fiercely  break  j 
Each  eye  is  fix'd  in  wild  despair, 
And  death  displays  its  terrors  there. 

Now  plunging  in  the  dread  abyss, 
They  pierce  the  bosom  of  the  deep — 

Now  rise  where  vivid  lightnings  hiss, 
And  seem  the  murky  clouds  to  sweep ; 

Through  the  dark  waste  dread  thunders  roll, 

And  horror -chills  the  'frighted  soul. 

The  storm  abates — but,  shatter'd  sore, 
The  leaky  vessel  drinks  the  brine — 


129 

They  seek  in  vain  some  friendly  shore— 
Their  spirits  sink  ;  their  hopes  decline. 
But  lo,  what  joy  succeeds  their  grief! 
Kind  Heaven  grants  the  wish'd  relief. 

See,  on  the  deck  young  MARCO  stands, 
Two  blooming  infants  by  his  side, 
Entrusted  to  his  faithful  hands  ; 

A  mother's  joy — a  father's  pride — 
Tho'  black  his  skin,  as  shades  of  night, 
His  heart  is  fair,  his  soul  is  white. 

Each  to  the  yawl  with  rapture  flies, 

Except  the  noble,  generous  boy  ; 
"  Go,  lovely  infants,  go,"  he  cries, 

And  give  your  anxious  parents  joy  ; 
No  mother  will  for  Marco  weep, 
When  fate  entombs  him  in  the  deep. 

Long  have  my  kindred  ceas'd  to  grieve ; 

No  sister  kind  my  fate  shall  mourn ; 
No  breast  for  me  a  sigh  will  heave ; 

No  bosom  friend  wait  my  return ! 
He  said,  and,  sinking,  sought  the  happy  shore, 
Where  toil  and  slavery  vex  his  soul  no  more  i 


130 


FRAGMENT. 

—I  met,  as  near  the  forest's  skirts  I  stray'd, 
A  remnant  of  a  man  ;  wooing  the  gloom 
Of  twilight  shade,  congenial  to  his  soul. — 
He  threw  askance  a  look  of  wild  reproach, 
That  seem'd  to  say,  "  Avaunt,  unkind  intruder! 
These  haunts  are  consecrated  to  DESPAIB  ;" 
Then,  turning,  sought  the  bosom  of  the  wood. 

I  follow'd  him,  aloof ;  and  oft  observed 
His  comely,  though  emaciated  form, 
Alternate  gliding  through  umbrageous  groves, 
Or  slowly  climbing  o'er  the  craggy  steep. 

At  length,  beneath  a  huge  and  shelving  rock, 
He  sat  him  down — its  high  projecting  brow 
A  hemlock  met,  whose  thick,  entangled  limbs 
Flung  o'er  the  ground  below  a  sombrous  shade  ; 
And  near  the  root,  in  subterraneous  course, 
A  bubbling  streamlet  flow'd,  whose  hollow  sound 
'Rose  through  the  crannies  of  the  -broken  earth. — 

"  Fit  temple  of  despair !"  he  said — and  then, 
With  eyes  that  gleam'd  a  sullen  satisfaction, 


131 

He  view'd  the  gloemy  scene. — "Here,  haggard  fiend, 
Thou  sitst  enthron'd,  in  ghastly  majesty — 
Here  will  I  raise  an  altar — and  thereon 
Lay  these  weak  limbs,  a  wretched  sacrifice  !" 

Then  from  his  bosom  he  a  phial  drew, 
And  view'd  it  with  a  grim  hysteric  smile. — 
"  O,  precious  draught,"  he  said — "  thou  art,  to  me, 
Like  a  cool  fountain  to  a  thirsty  pilgrim—- 
Thy cordial  power  shall  lull  the  rankling  pain 
That  wrings  my  tortured  heart."— Then  to  his  lips 
He  rais'd,  with  eager  hand,  the  deadly  potion. — 

— "  Hold,  wretched  man  !"  I  cryM — and  rushing  forth, 

Seiz'd  his  rash  hand — while,  with  a  ghastly  stare, 

He  ey'd  me,  as  an  evil  genius,  sent 

To  cross  the  fondest  purpose  of  his  soul. — 

His  cheeks  were  lean  and  sallow ;  and  he  seem'd 

A  wreck  of  man,  a  monument  of  woe  ! 


(I  saw  him  once,  in  happier  days,  when  joy 
Beam'd  in  each  feature,  and  the  admiring  world 
Deny'd  him  not  the  early  wreath  of  fame — 
But,  in  some  sanguine  moments  of  his  youth, 
Fell  Dissipation  led  his  steps  astray — 


132 


Then  did  no  friend,  with  bland  solicitude, 

Reach  out  a  gentle  hand  to  stay  his  course, 

Or  to  restore  him  to  the  path  of  virtue-— 

Then,  lorn  and  destitute,  he  keenly  felt 

The  scorn  of  an  uncharitable  world, 

Whose  cold  reproach,  and  frown  contemptuous,  weigh'd 

His  spirit  down,  and  drove  him  to  despair.) 

*  *  *  *  $  * 

I  press'd  his  hand — and  with  a  tender  smile, 
Proffer 'd  my  service — and,  while  yet  I  spoke, 
I  saw  a  tear  roll  down  his  faded  cheek, 
Which  was  a  stranger  there — for  scorching  grief 
Had  dried,  long  since,  the  moisture  of  his  eyes.— 
And  then,  methought,  I  saw  a  gleam  of  hope, 

Borne  in  a  languid  smile,  illume  his  face 

A  gradual,  increasing  smile,  which  seem'd 
Like  the  returning  of  the  vernal  sun, 
Which  comes  to  chase  the  wintry  cloud  away, 
And  bid  reviving  nature  bloom  again. 

*  *  »  .*  *  * 

And  now,  with  health  and  happiness  elate, 
He  lives,  to  virtue  and  to  friendship  true. — 
Oft  with  the  music  of  his  grateful  thanks-, 
He  gratifies  my  ear;  and  blesses  oft 


133 

The  guardian  power  that  led  my  wandering  steps 
To  the  intended  scene  of  self-destruction. 

Now  do  I  feel  more  -pride,  in  having  thus 
Restor'd  a  youth,  from  misery  and  vice 
To  virtue's  path — his  sorrows  sooth'd — and  poured 
The  balm  of  friendship  on  his  wounded  heart — 
Pluck'd  from  his  breast  the  cancer  of  despair, 
And  planted  hope's  delightful  promise  thepe — 
Than  I  should  feel  to  rule  the  state  alone,    . 
Or  wade  through  bleeding  millions,  to  a  throne. 


134 


THE  SPIES. 

When  lurking  in  the  camp  of  foes, 
With  adverse  chances  all  before  him, 

The  war-spy  trembles,  for  he  knows 
There  stands  a  gibbet,  in  terrorem. 

And  this  is  for  his  country's  sake ; 

Yet  nations,  by  consent  denounce  him ; 
And  strictly  they  the  forfeit  take, 

And  ignominious  they  pronounce  him. 

The  fire-side  spy  sits  cool  and  calm, 
And  scans  your  secrets  with  impunity ; 

Pours  friendly  words  in  breath  of  balm, 
Then  tattles  to  the  whole  community. 

Yet,  though  no  gallows  or  no  rope 
Their  terrors  in  this  case  exhibit — 

The  scorn  of  all  good  men,  we  hope, 
And  just  contempt,  will  form  his  gibbet- 


136 
MENTAL  BEAUTY. 

The  soft  gentle  breezes  no  more 

Convey  sweet  perfume  thro'  the  vale, 
But  tempests  tremendously  roar — 

Cold  snow  rides  aloft  on  the  gale. 
The  forests  bow  low  to  the  wind, 

The  traveller  shivers  with  cttld, 
Old  Boreas,  rude  and  unkind, 

Drives  the  innocent  flock  to  the  fold. 

The  rose,  and  its  lovely  perfume, 

Is  ravished  and  fled  with  the  breeze  ; 
The  cherry's  ripe  sweetness,  and  bloom, 

Hang  tempting,  no  more  on  the  trees. 
The  enlivening  fountain  of  light 

Shines  dim  on  the  mountains  and  plains ; 
No  more  the  wild  songsters  -delight 

To  cheer  the  sad  heart  with  their  strains. 

What  avails  all  this  loss,  to  the  Mind 

Which  makes,  of  life's  changes,  the  best  r 

More  rational  pleasures  I  find 

Where  reason  commands  us — "be  blest  !?* 

Tho'  nature  one  pleasure  denies, 
And  exhibits  rude  scenes  for  a  while, 


136 

Hie  quota  of  bliss  she  supplies, 
Where  summer  and  spring  ever  smiFe, 

The  soft  vernal  breeze  of  the  morn, 

In  Maria's  sweet  breath  shall  revive  -, 
The  rose,  from  its  parent  bush  torn, 

Shall  bloom  on  her  features  and  live : 
The  cherry's  bright  hue  on  her  lip 

Will  ripen  more  luscious  and  fair, 
Where  chaste  morning  zephyrs  shall  sip,. 

And  murmur  their  love  thro'  the  air. 

Do  I  sigh  for  the  sun's  fallen  beams? — 

Her  countenance,  glowing  with  love, 
In  his  absence  delightfully  gleams, 

And  bids  each  dark  vapor  remove. 
Tho'  birds  tune  no  more  their  sweet  throaty 

To  hail  the  bright  "  child  of  the  dawn," 
Their  music's  improv'd  in  her  notes, 

As  she  sings  of  blest  infancy — gone ! 

But  the  winter  of  age,  you  reply, 

Shall  crop  the  fair  rose-bud  of  youth  j 

Her  bloom,  like  the  cherrv,  must  die, 
Each  flower  points  out  the  sad  truth- 


137 

Diseases  may  taint  her  sweet  breath, 
Her  countenance  lose  its  bright  charms ; 

Her  voice  shall  be  smother'd  in  death, 
Where  no  vernal  sun  ever  warms ! 

But  ah !  'tis  her  Mind  which  can  give 

Delight,  when  her  beauty  is  fled — 
Which  bids  nobler  pleasures  to  thrive — 

Yields  fruit  when  the  blossom  is  dead. 
Do  the  songsters  one  sentiment  know, 

As  they  chatter  their  notes  to  the  gale  ? 
With  a  soul,  does  the  rose  ever  glow, 

While  it  sheds  its  perfume  o'er  the  vale  ?- 

Ah  no !  tho'  of  beauty  they  boast, 

Tho'  their  melody  sounds  to  the  pole, 
Not  one  of  the  beautiful  host 

Is  possest  of  a  beautiful  soul. 
'Tis  the  Mind,  which  firm  pleasure  bestows, 

When  the  charms  of  frail  beauty  are  lost, 
Which  in  life's  dreary  winter  still  glows, 

Untouch'd  by  its  withering  frost. 

December  16th,  1799. 


138 


SPORTS  OF  FEMALE  YOUTH. 


Perhaps  there  are  few  scenes  more  exhilirating-,  more  re- 
freshing- to  the  heart  laboring1  under  mental  perplexity, 
and  bodily  languor  and  fatigue,  than  where  accomplished 
females,  in  the  fresh  bloom  of  earliest  vouth,  indulge 
their  vivacity  within  the  limits  of  decorum.  It  was  such 
a  scene,  in  a  garden,  and  under  such  circumstances,  that 
elicited  the  following-  lines. 


Sweet  playful  sisters — twins  of  joy  ! 

Pure  hearts,  with  guileless  pleasure  beating : 
May  fate  withhold  unblest  alloy, 

Nor  cloud  the  morn  of  youth  so  fleeting : 

While  pleased  I  see  those,  agile  forms, 
Thus  gambol,  innocently  sportive,* 

I  breathe  a  prayer  that  no  rude  storms 
May  make  their  budding  hopes  abortive, 

Happy  the  favor'd  youths,  for  whom 

Alone  those  lips  shall  smile  so  sprightly  ! 

For  them  life's  gayest  flowers  shall  bloom, 
For  them  will  gladness  beam  most  brightly. 

Life's  a  dull  dance — but  stepp'd  with  you, 
'•Twould  move  to  notes  of  livelier  measure  j 


139 

And  heavy  Care  would  curvet,  toe, 
Or  take  the  silken  wings  of  pleasure! 

Who,  that  enjoy'd  your  dimply  smiles, 
Would  care  a  fig  for  fortune's  frowning  ? 

Who  would  not  covet  cares  and  toils, 
Which  you  with  such  rewards  were  crowning  r 

When  grief's  hard  frost  descends  on  man, 
The  genial  stream  of  life  congealing, 

Such  smiling  charmers,  only,  can 
Restore  the  frozen  heart  to  feeling. 


140 
THE  TOMB  OF  WASHINGTON, 

VISITED    BT    A    SOLDIER. 

The  sun's  departing  beams,  on  Vernon's  hill, 

Shone  dim  and  pale,  while  'midst  the  cheerless  gloom 

A  solemn  silence  reign'd — all  hush'd,  and  still — 
A  dusky  shade  o'erspread  the  Hero's  Tomb. 

Shrunk  with  the  frosts  of  age,  and  plainly  clad, 
A  grey-hair'd  vet'ran  on  his  staff  reclin'd, 

His  full  breast  heaving,  and  his  visage  sad — 
An  hallowed  tear  departed  worth  enshrin'd. 

"  O  Death!"  he  cried,  "what  has  thy  fury  done! 
Bereav'd  fair  Freedom  of  her  favorite  son ! 
Laid  low  the  form  which  shone  so  bright  in  arms, 
The  heart  which  fear'd  not  battle's  dire  alarms ; 
The  mind  whose  power  unchain'd  a  fetter'd  world ; 
An  arm  whose  strength  a  nation's  vengeance  hurl'd : 
Swept  from  the  earth  at  one  distressing  blow, 
The  freeman's  pride,  the  daring  despot's  foe ! 

"  Hither,  0  Memory !  fly  on  hasty  wing, 
Thy  brightest  tints,  thy  choicest  pencils  bring  ; 
Pourtrav  his  form,  in  battle's  dread  arrav. 


141 

In  scenes  of  blood,  of  slaughter,  and  dismay, 
Imparting  fire  to  each  desponding  heart, 
Facing,  undaunted,  death's  promiscuous  dart ; 
Trace  him  when  liberty  in  hopeless  grief, 
Look'd  on  each  side,  and  saw  no  kind  relief; 
When  hostile  armies  swept  our  native  la'nd, 
And  ruin  hover'd  o'er  our  hapless  band ; 
When  pale  Columbia,  wretched  and  forlorn, 
Saw  threatening  clouds  obscure  her  earliest  morn; 
Her  sun  seem'd  verging  to  the  gloom  of  night, 
No  friendly  star  to  greet  her  aching  sight — 
When  lo!  propitious,  from  the  trembling  crowd, 
The  Hero  rose,  and  pierc'd  the  gath'ring  cloud ; 
From  hostile  snares,  her  war-worn  ranks  he  led, 
He  nerv'd  each  heart,  and  rais'd  each  drooping  head, 
Thro'  thickening  dangers  "  hew'd  his  rapid  way," 
And  led  his  armies  to  a  brighter  day. 
And  O !  pourtray  him,  when  in  dire  distress, 
Few  rags  had  we  our  shivering  limbs  to  bless; 
Oppress'd  with  hunger,  cold,  fatigue,  and  woe, 
We  feebly  march'd  to  meet  the  hardy  foe ; 
His  name  reviv'd  the  half-extinguish'd  flame, 
And  urg'd  anew  our  country's  lawful  claim ; 
By  his  example,  by  his  courage  taught, 
Distress,  and  want,  and  hunger,  we  forgot; 


142 

Fir'd  by  his  zeal,  who  danger  thus  despis'd, 

We  sought  that  Liberty  so  highly  priz'd ; 

From  field  to  field  by  him  obedient  led, 

Our  arms,  victorious,  o'er  the  region  spread, 

Till  conquer'd  foes  unsheathed  the  sword  no  more, 

And  Freedom's  banner  wav'd  on  blest  Columbia's  shore. 

"  And  0 !  methinks  his  form  I  still  espy, 
Where  cannons  roar,  and  hissing  bullets  fly, 
Forming  his  ranks  to  meet  the  pressing  foe, 
Whilst  at  each  word  he  speaks,  our  bosoms  glow 
With  ardent  heat,  swift  to  the  charge  we  fly, 
For  Liberty,  to  conquer,  or  to  die ! 

"  Alas  !  the  dream  is  gone — the  vision  fled  ! 
And  all  his  laurels  crown  a  lifeless  head ! 
He's  gone !  no  more  the  conquering  sword  to  wield, 
No  more  in  arms  to  grace  the  warlike  field. 
What  muse  hath  power  to  paint  my  heart-felt  grief? 
Where  shall  the  orphan  soldier  find  relief? 
Oh  patriot  shade !  accept  a  vet'ran's  tear, 
The  sad  effusion  of  a  grief  sincere ; 
Accept  the  tribute,  which,  unfeign'd,  I  give, 
Which  consecrates  thy  tomb,  and  bids  thy  memory  live." 


143 

Thus,  by  warm  affection  woa, 

Mourn'd  fair  Freedom's  aged  son  ; 

Tears  o'erflow'd  his  manly  eye, 

While  his  bosom  heav'd  the  sigh, 

For  Washington,  his  parent,  friend,  and  guide, 

The  world's  example,  and  his  country's  pride. 

When  lo  !  a  form  in  sable  robes  array'd, 

Advanc'd  majestic,  thro'  the  dusky  shade, 

A  gloomy  sorrow  o'er  her  visage  spread, 

And  wreaths  ef  yew-tree  crown'd  her  beauteous 

head. 

'Twas  Liberty,  whose  kind  propitious  hand, 
Strews  her  sweet  gifts,  to  bless  our  happy  land. 

"Yes,  honor'd  chief,"  she  cried,  "thy  laurels  still 

shall  bloom, 

When  time's  destroying  hand  in  ruin  lays  thy  tomb ; 
Thro'  long  succeeding  years,  thy  memory  shall  survive, 
In  every  heart  exist,  in  every  bosom  live. 
His  deathless  name  shall  sound,  till  time  shall  cease 

to  be, 
fFho  broke  a  tyrant's  chain — who  set  a  nation  free!" 

January  \$th,  1800. 


144 
ELEGY 

OX  THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  STUDENT. 

Muse  !  breathe  the  solemn  dirge  o'er  Henry's  tomb  • 
Departed  merit  claims  the  pensive  lay; 

"While  sacred  friendship  mourns  his  faded  bloom, 
The  lost  companion  of  a  happier  day ! 

Behold,  O  Death !  thy  youthful  victim  lies 

Where  morning  suns  shall  greet  his  eyes  no  more ! 

For  him,  nor  spring's  perfume,  nor  summer  skies, 
Can  yield  those  raptures  which  they  gave  before ! 

Why  point  thy  vengeance  on  his  guiltless  head, 
On  him,  whose  heart  no  sinful  pleasures  knew— 

Who  in  the  paths  of  vice  ne'er  learn'd  to  tread, 
In  whose  mild  breast  the  kindred  virtues  grew  ? 

Go,  seek  the  vault  where  hapless  maniacs  dwell, 
Where  human  misery  broods  in  darkest  shade, 

Go,  make  thy  visit  to  some  gloomy  cell, 

Where  haggard  wretches  hourly  call  thy  aid. 

There,  pale  Misfortune's  victims  shall  rejoice, 

And  bless  the  power  which  bade  their  torments  eni, 


145 

With  sudden  rapture  greet  thy  hollow  voice, 
And  to  thy  will  in  glad  submission  bend. 

But  ah !  'tis  thy  delight  to  pierce  the  heart, 
I  Where  meek-eyed  virtue  holds  her  placid  reign, 

'Tis  thy  delight  to  hurl  the  unerring  dart 

At  those  great  souls  who  fear  no  earthly  pain. 

Thus  falls  the  rose  beneath  the  spoiler's  hand, 

While  meaner  blossoms  live,  untouch'd,  unsought ! 

The  noblest  trees  beneath  the  axe  must  bend, 

While  knotted  trunks  with  age  must  droop  and  rot ! 

Ah!  hapless  victim  of  untimely  death, 
What  happy  prospects  thy  fond  fancy  drew ! 

What  cheerful  raptures  warm'd  thy  youthful  breath, 
While  scenes  of  bliss  were  opening  to  thy  view ! 

The  Muse  in  thee  beheld  hex  darling  swain, 
And  Genius  hail'd  thee  as  his  favorite  son ; 

Learning  enroll'd  thee  in  her  useful  train — 

But  death  stepp'd  forth — and  lo !  their  hopes  were 
gone! 

No  more,  with  studious  labor,  shalt  thou  pore 
O'er  Virgil's  leaves,  or  Homer's  verse  sublime ; 
13 


146 

'No  more,  by  midnight  taper,  trace  the  lore 
Of  ancient  sages  to  remotest  time. 

And  ah !  no  more,  with  me,  to  view  the  scene 
Of  infant  pleasures,  and  of  mutual  joy, 

Where  oft,  in  those  blest  days,  o'er  meadows  green, 
Or  lofty  cliff",  we  stray'd  without  annoy  ! 

Alone  I  wander  near  the  grove  of  pines, 
Whose  lofty  trees,  aspiring,  pierce  the  air, 

Or  where  Pomona's  varied  treasure  shines, 
But  all  is  dull — for  Henry  is  not  there ! 

The  widow'd  Muse  with  laurel  decks  thy  tomb, 
While  friendship  drops,  for  thee,  the  sacred  tear, 

And  Genius  utters  (drest  in  deepest  gloom) 
"My  brightest  favorite  sleeps  in  silence  here  !?J 

February  I5lh,  1800. 


147 
WILLIAM  PENN, 

HIS     FRIEND,     AND     THE     JUSTICE. 

Our  great  friend,  William  Penn, 
(I  dorrt  remember  when — 
But  that's  no  matter) — 
Abroad,  with  his  companion,  met  a  shower  ; 
For  clouds  regard  not  greatness,  wealth  or  power ; 
And.rain  is  seldom  known  to  flatter. 

And  after  this  important  truth  disclosing, 
I'll  tell  my  story,  without  further  prosing. 

Themselves  and  beasts — ('twas  natural  enough) 
They  took,  for  shelter,  to  the  nearest  out-house — 

While  th'  owner,  from  his  mansion,  in  a  huff, 
Saw  them,  and  fretted  much  about  house. 

Now,  he  was  one 
Whose  brain,  half  done, 
Kequir'd  some  further  service  from  the  cook  ; 
So,  often,  on  each  day, 
He  warm'd  it,  by  the  shortest  way, 
And  liquid  fuel  very  wisely  took. 

And  though  his  boiler  had  at  least  a  quart  in't, 
Enough  to  render  any  man  important, 


148 

Yet,  with  another  circumstance  elate, 
He  strutted,  for  he  was  a  magistrate ! 

Bloated  and  blowzv, 

Filthy  and  frouzy, 

Morose,  austere,  purse-proud  and  splenetic. 
Irascible  and  phrenetic, 
Down  came  the  self-inflated  'squire, 
4nd  censur d  their  intrusion,  with  much  ire. 

The  calm  philanthropist,  sedate  and  mild,  • 
Meekly  observ'd  him,  and  serenely  smil'd  f 
While  his  companion,  rather  nettled 
At  such  rebuke,  the  case  soon  settled. 

"  Tho?  thou  may'st  be  a  Christian  in  reality; 
Thou  show's!  but  little  Christian  hospitality." 

The  friend  no  sooner  this  pronounc'd,. 

Than  the  offended  swaggerer  bounc'd— 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  do  you  doubt 
My  hospitality  ? — Clear  out ! 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  to  whom  you  speak ; 
I  was  appointed  JUSTICE,  this  day  week!" 
Well,  said  the  friend  (I  hope  that  I 

Am  making  not  too  free)— 

This  Governor,  who  standeth  by, 

Maketh  such  tilings  as  thee  \ 


149 


MADNESS. 

Death,  torture,  sickness,  poverty — and  all 
The  ills  that  on  poor  human  nature  fall, 
Inflict,  just  Heaven ! — I  will  be  resign'd  ; 
Chastise  the  Body — but,  O  save  the  Mind ! 

Let  friends  prove  false — let  foes  in  triumph  rise ; 
Let  deafness  close  my  ears — make  blind  mine  eyes ; 
Crush  this  poor  fabric — [  am  still  resign'd ; 
But  from  the  ruin  free  the  tenant,  Mind  ! 


Let  suffering  children  cry  in  vain  for  bread ; 
Disgrace  and  crime — dishonor — shroud  my  head  ; 

Ah,  no  ! — I  pause — let  madness  save  this  part ! 

O,  scourge  the  immortal  Mind — but  spare  the  Heart ! 


'13 


150 


REFLECTIONS, 

ON    SEEING    THE     MINIATURE     OF    A    MARRIED     LADT, 
PAINTED    BY  DICKINSON. 

O,  can  it  be  ?  can  ivory  live, 

By  the  creative  touch  of  art  ? 
With  mortal  means,  can  genius  give 

All  that  can  warm  and  bless  the  heart? 

Unconsciously — I  know  not  how 

The  magic  comes — but  whilst  I  view 

That  lovely  face,  I  make  my  bow, 
As  to  a  living  beauty  due. 

Two  sins  beset — I  idolize, 

If  thus  thv  image  I  adore  ; 
If,  as  thou  seemest  to  my  eyes, 

Thou'rt  real — I  have  peace  no  more. 

Surely  that  mouth  can  sweetly  breathe — 
Surely  those  eyes  must  wink,  anon—- 
The glass  I  kiss — all's  cold  beneath,. 
And  the  belov'd  illusion's  gone  J 


151 


FRAGMENTS  AND  EXTRACTS. 


The  following  lines  are  extracted  from  an  Address  for  the 
New  Year,  published  in  the  Hartford  Mercury  at  the  time 
of  the  date  subjoined. 

Father  TIME  overtook  me,  one  evening  of  late, 

As  I  loung'd  thro'  the  street,  with  a  sauntering  gait. 

By  his  forelock  I  knew  him>  his  scythe  and  his  glass, 

As  he  hasten'd  beside  me,  intending  to  pass  ; 

But  growing  ambitious,  I  mended  my  pace, 

Resolv'd,  at  all  hazards,  to  venture  a  race ; 

He  observ'd  it,  and  turning  towards  me  his  head, 

Relax'd  his  stern  features,  and  courteously  said — 

"  My  lad,  sure  I  know  you  !  are  not  you  the  same 

That  yearly  are  wont  to  emblazon  my  fame  ? 

Well  encounter'd,  my  boy !  now  I  hope  you'll  afford, 

In  my  favor,  next  New-Year,  a  very  good  word. 

Give  this  anniversary  entrance  and  exit 

A  song  of  applause,  for  each  reader  expects  it  1 


152 


Not  I,  (I  replied,  with  a  resolute  tone, 

Determin'd  to  give  the  old  fellow  his  own) 

Thou  spoiler  of  beauty !— destroyer  of  man ! 

Shew  what  praise  you  have  earn'd,  the  past  year,  if 

you  can. 

Will  JANE  boast  thy  gifts  ?  no  indeed,  she  declares 
Thou  hast  brought  her  new  wrinkles,  and  divers  grey 

hairs  ; 
MERCATOR  won't  praise  thee — for  lately  he  swore 

Not  a  cent  hadst  thou  added  last  year  to  his  store ! 

Nor  less  will  DECRIPPUS  complain  of  thy  rigor, 

Who  says,  in  twelve  months  thou  hast  stolen  his  vigor. 

In  short,  who  will  thank  me  to  praise  thee  in  rhyme, 

When  all  the  world  pouts  at  this  terrible  TIME? 

Soft,  soft,"  said  the  sage — "must  /always  endure 

The  blame  of  those  ills  to  yourselves  you  procure  ? 

Does  petulant  Beauty  tax  me  with  the  fading 

Of  charms  which  I  ripen'd  ?  ungrateful  upbraiding ! 

The  loss  she  had  never  regretted,  in  truth, 

Had  she  wisely  us'd  me  in  the  bloom  of  her  youth. 

Does  commerce,  diseas'd  by  her  vices  and  surfeits, 

Set  down  to  my  charge  what  her  knavery  forfeits? 

She  had  never  found  reason  to  blame  me,  depend, 

Had  she  honestly  us'd  me,  when  Time  was  her  friend. 


153 

Becrippus  complains  too !  O  fye  !  never  name  it — 
Time  lent  him  his  vigor — may  Time  not  reclaim  it  ? 

You  will  ask  me  of  Europe,  perhaps  ;  and  what  cause, 
She  has  to  afford  this  year's  Time  her  applause  ? 
My  reply  is,  that  I  am  the  world's  best  physician, 
And  best  can  decide  on  the  patient's  condition ; 
As  for  Europe,  her  madness,  and  various  diseases 
Much  bleeding  require  ere  the  malady  ceases. 

And  now,  I  suppose,  you  will  ask,  in  a  pet, 
Wherein  your  own  country  to  me  is  in  debt  ? 
The  av'rice  of  trade  I've  not  glutted,  indeed, 
Nor  hatch'd  of  new  nabobs  an  insolent  breed — 
But  your  wandering  bees  I've  recall'd  to  their  hive, 
Manufactures  encourag'd — made  industry  thrive. 
Survey  wretched  Europe,  'midst  havock  and  riot ; 
Then  homeward  return  and  be  thankful  and  quiet  j 
Be  your  laws  well  supported — your  country  improv'd — 
Your  rights  firmly  held,  and  your  liberty  lov'd — 
When  thus  your  true  int'rests  are  well  understood, 
That  Time  will-  be  bless'd  which  prescrib'd  for  your 

good." 

Well  argu'd  said  I — "but  a  bar  remains  still — 
The  Poets,  those  indolent  sons  of  the  Quill, 


154 


For  love  or  for  money  won't  rally  their  spirits 
To  give  me  the  verse  that  belongs  to  thy  merits ; 
One  has  his  name  up,  and  he  doses  till  noon ; 
One's  fiddle's  hung  up,  and  his  harp's  out  of  tune— 
Another,  (a  churl !)  will  not  write  me  a  line, 
For  he  swears  'twould  be  throwing  his  pearl  to  the 
swine." 

Time  reply *d,    "  then  obtain   as   your  countrymen 

ought, 

From  your  own  manufacture,  what  should  not  be  bought ; 
If  the  poets,  indiff 'rent  to  fame  or  to  pelf, 
Refuse  their  assistance,  turn  Poet  yourself; 

A  word  of  advice,  now,  at  parting  my  boy ; 

In  speaking  of  Time  mind  what  terms  you  employ ; 

For  when  in  Eternity's  bottomless  sea 

I'm  swallow'd,  as  thousands  were  swallow'd  by  me, 

Then  mortals  will  learn  that  the  horridest  crime 

They  committed  in  life,  was,  abusing  of  TIME." 

This  said,  he  outstript  me  a  mile  in  a  trice, 

And  left  me  alone  to  digest  his  advice. 

"  What  think  you,  my  patrons,  of  Time's  odd  injunc- 
tion? 
Shall  /  dare  assume  the  Poetical  function  ? 


155 

When  so  young,  can  I  wield  the  satirical  lash, 
Which  once  made  the  grinders  of  hypocrites  gnash  ? 
Can  I,  with  experience  so  scantily  stor'd, 
The  deep  and  the  rough  sea  of  politics  ford  ? 
Alas,  no !  I  shrink — and  must  wait  on  the  shore, 
Till  Time  shall  supply  me  with  strength  to  wade  o'er. 
But  tho'  my  young  head  lacks  the  harvest  of  years, 
Full  ripe  is  my  heart  which  your  bounty  oft  cheers, 
Whatever  my  lot,  'tis  in  one  thing  propitious, 
I  have  power  to  afford  you  my  hearty  good  wishes. 
Accept,  then,  my  patrons,  my  wish  most  sincere, 
To  find  you  enjoying  a  happy  New-Year ; 
May  peace  at  your  fire -sides  ever  abide  ; 
O'er  your  country  may  Justice  and  Freedom  preside ; 
And  while  you  are  Heaven's  choice  blessings  receiving, 
May  you  ever  experience  the  pleasure  of  giving. 

Hartford,  Jan.  1,  1811. 


156 


BATTLE  OF  ORLEANS. 

O'er  miry  marsh — through  crackling  brake, 

The  Aligator's  lonely  path — 
Through  slimy  sedge,  and  stagnant  creek, 

Slow  creep  the  instruments  of  wrath. 

And  come  they  there  for  honor?s  meed. 

For  fame  to  fight,  for  glory  bleed  ? 

Come  they  for  wreaths  that  deck  the  brave, 

For  vict'ry,  or  a  glorious  grave  ? 

Was  all  this  perseverance  shown 

For  country,  and  for  king,  alone  ? 

Alas,  for  shame ! 
Their  aim  was  not  so  just ; 
Europe's  "  protectors,"  cloy'd  with/ame, 
Are  mov'd  by  avarice  and  lust! 

Emerging  from  their  swampy  way, 

Wide  spreads  the  battle  line ; 
Now  mark  ye  well  that  parting  ray, 
For  thousands  view  this  closing  day, 

That  ne'er  will  see  another  shine ! 


157 

Dread  silence  reigns! 

*Tis  past  the  midnight  hour ! 
The  watchful  guard  alone  remains 
Awake — except  some  plodding  brains 

Have  sleepless  dreams  of  power. 
The  soldier,  long  in  service  try'd» 
Sleeps  sound,  his  ready  arms  beside : — 
He  seldom  yields  to  sorrow ; 

And  to  reflection,  never ; 
Soldier,  awake !  for  on  the  morrow, 

Perhaps,  thou'lt  sleep  forever  ! 
Rouse  thee  !  for  yon  ascending  light 
Displays  the  signal  for  the  fight ; 
Now  think  thee  of  the  joys  that  wait 
Thy  toils,  within  yon  city's  gate ! 

And  now  'tis  bustle,  all, — 
The  seal  of  secrecy  is  broke, 

How  shrill  the  bugle's  call, 
How  swift  the  drummer's  stroke  ! 

Now  to  the  dread  assault  they  rush, 
And  to  the  silent  trenches  push. 

Why  yet  so  still,  behind  yon  mound, 
While  eager  vengeance  hovers  round  ? 
14 


158 

Think  you  they  sleep?  no— wakeful,  they, 
As  eagles,  tow'ring  o'er  their  prey. 
Sleep  they?  behold  that  blasting  flash! 
And  hark  !  that  ear-confounding  crash! 
What  horrors  on  that  thunder  wait, 
Unerring  as  the  shaft  of  fate ! 
Again  !  how  rolls  the  smoky  volume ! 
How  staggers  yon  distracted  column. 
Now,  JACKSON,  ply  thy  rifle  balls, 
For  desp'rate  spirits  mount  thy  walls ; 
Hark  !  whence  proceeds  that  cheering  cry  ? 
Joy  !  'tis  the  shout  of  Victory  ! 
.Nay,  GIBBS,  prick  not  the  victims  on — 
Thy  fate  is  seal'd — the  work  is  done ! 


Peace  to  the  dead!  to  those  who  live, 
Let  this  sad  lesson  warning  give ; 
Our  beauties  are  for  their  protectors  j 
Our  booty,  for  our  own  collectors.* 


*A  Collector,  ready  appointed,  for  New  Orleans,  was  sent 
out  with  the  British  army. 


159 
PEACE. 

Thus  clos'd  the  war,  upon  the  shore  ; 

For  scarce  had  ceas'd  the  battery's  roar, 

Nay,  still  was  seen  the  distant  smoke, 

Still  echo,  from  the  mountain,  spoke, 

Of  joyful  peals,  for  vict'ry  \von, 

And  deeds  of  high  achievement  done ; 

When,  streaming  o'er  yon  waves  of  blue, 

The  argent  flag  appear'd  in  view. 

Hush'd  now  the  peal,  and  hush'd  the  shout — 

All,  save  the  buz  of  anxious  doubt. 

Why  ploughs  that  stem  the  shallowing  flood  ? 

Comes  it  for  evil,  or  for  good  ? 

And  who  are  they,  in  friendly  guise, 

O'er  whom  that  snowy  emblem  flies  ? 

Come  they  to  hurl  denunciations 

Of  "  chastisements" — "  retaliations  ?" 

Seek  they  our  rulers,  but  to  tell  'em 

Of  "  statu  quo,"  and  "ante  bellum  ?" 

Come  they  to  say,  in  haughty  tone, 

They'll  make  "no  peace  with  Madison  r" 

Come  they  to  claim  the  Lakes,  and  all 

Their  bays  and  islands,  great  and  small  ? 

Were  they  from  England  sent,  to  carry  o'er 

The  sketches  of  an  "Indian  barrier?" 


160 

Come  they  to  argue  (all  in  vain)  011 
Their  odious  terms  of  "sine  qua  non?'' 
If  so,  they've  bootless  come  so  far,  and 
May  soon  return  from  their  fool's  errand. 

But  no.     That  soul-elating  cheer, 
Those  beavers,  flourishing  in  air, 
That  cordial  grasping  of  the  hand, 
Those  glist'ning  ejes — those  smiles  so  bland  4 
More  welcome  tidings  indicate, 
And  promise  things  of  higher  rate. 
And  now  the  joyful  cheers  increase — 
Hark!  'Tis  the  welcome  sound  of  PEACE  j 


161 


OUR  COUNTRY. 

Supposed  to  be  the  effusion  of  a  citizen  of  the  United  States, 
after  sojourning1  in  Europe.   , 

Return  we,  from  this  gloomy  view,  , 
To  native  scenes,  of  fairer  hue, 
Land  of  our  sires !  the  Hero's  home  ! 
Weary,  and  sick,  to  thee  we  come ; 
The  heart,  fatigu'd  with  foreign  woes, 
On  thy  fair  bosom  seeks  repose. 
Columbia !  hope  of  future  times ! 
Thou  wonder  of  surrounding  climes  ! 
Thou  last  and  only  resting  place 
Of  Freedom's  persecuted  race  ! 
Hail  to  thy  consecrated  domes ! 
Thy  fruitful  fields,  and  peaceful  homes ! 
The  hunter,  thus,  who  long  has  toil'd 
O'er  mountain  rude,  and  forest  wild, 
Turns  from  the  dark  and  cheerless  way, 
Where  howls  the  savage  beast  of  prey, 
To  where  yon  curls  of  smoke  aspire, 
Where  briskly  burns  his  crackling  fire  ; 
Towards  his  cot  delighted  moves, 
Cheer'd  by  the  voice  of  those  he  loves, 
*14 


162 

And,  welcom'd  by  domestic  smiles, 
Sings  cheerlv,  and  forgets  his  toils. 

No  meddling  foreigners  embroil 
Our  thriving  states,  nor  drain  our  soil ; 
No  false  "  protectors"  from  abroad — 
For  our  "  Deliverer"  is  God  ! 
HE.  gives  us  Victory  and  Peace, 
Blesses  the  Harvest  and  the  Fleece — 
Prospers  the  Plough,  the  Sail,  the  Loom, 
And  makes  our  wildernesses  bloom. 

....  Ev'n  now,  his  all -subduing  word, 
Grav'd  on  the  Patriot's  holy  sword, 
Bids  Independent  standards  rise, 
And  wave,  in  bright  Peruvian  skies  ; 
While  light,  and  liberty,  and  truth, 
Resplendent  beaming  o'er  the  South, 
Like  fire  that  guided  Israel's  van, 
To  Freedom  leads  benighted  maiu 


163 


ELBA. 

A  shock, 

Blasting  as  thunder,  from  that  rock, 
Shakes  old  Vienna  to  its  base, 
And  startles  Europe's  royal  race. 


Have  T  not  said,  no  chains  could  bind 

The  active  energies  of  mind  ? 

Have  I  not  said,  Napoleon's  reign 

Existed  in  the  hearts  of  men  ? 

Behold  the  Congress,  in  a  bustle, 

The  royal  plotters,  how  they  jostle, 

And  bump  their  heav'n  anointed  pates, 

In  hasty  scramble  for  their  hats. 

"What  sudden  passion  they  can  stir  up, 

The  regulators  of  all  Europe  ? 

Is  it  an  earthquake  shakes  their  seats, 

And  sets  them  scamp'ring  to  the  streets  ? 

Calls  Beelzebub  upon  their  names ; 

Or  is  the  palace  all  in  flames  ? 

Nay,  these  are  trifles,  to  the  event 

That  causes  their  astonishment ; 

'Tis  not  an  earthquake's  shock ;  but  one 

More  terrible,  that  rocks  each  throne  j 


164 

It  is  not  Satan's  self,  that  calls, 
But  Castlereagh,  who  loudly  bawls, 
"  To  arms,  ye  kings!  your  sabres  scour  up, 
Nor  carve  till  ye've  made  sure,  of  Europe ! 
Delay  not !  or  there's  one  hard  by, 
Will  have  a  finger  in  your  pye  ; 
A  carver,  he,  whose  ready  point 
Has  never  fail'd  to  hit  a  joint ; 
Let  him  but  once  come  near  your  dish, 
Then  for  a  dinner  you  may  fish. 
Nay,  fumble  not  your  empty  purses ; 
Here's  money — now  go  spur  your  horses  ! 
For  France  in  armor  has  equipt  her ; 
Again  Napoleon  wields  the  sceptre !" 
Napoleon  r  Horror's  in  the  name — 
But  say,  dear  Castlereagh — how  came 
This  thing  about  ?  Did  Bourbon  not 
Make  haste  to  quell  the  infernal  plot? 
Did  not  the  French,  at  first  alarms, 
Meet  the  Usurper,  with  their  arms  ? 
"  Meet  him  with  arms  ?  Aye,  faith,  well  spoken  • 
They  met  him  with  their  arms — wide  open ! 
And  Bourbon  did,  as  letters  say, 
Make  haste,  indeed — to  run  away ! 
And  now,  a  fugitive,  disgrac'd, 
He  claims  your  aid,  with  utmost  haste." 


165 

And  much,  poor  Louis,  did'stthou  need 
Their  utmost  strength,  their  promptest  speed 
A  King,  sans  people ;  and  a  sovereign 
More  qualify'd  to  cook,  than  govern  ; 
No  subjects  to  defend  his  claim — 
Defeated,  merely  by  a  name! 
The  French  desired  thee  ! — sure  enough  ! 
The  French  desired  thee — to  be  off ! 
While,  greater  in  himself  alone, 
Than  those  supported  by  a  throne, 
An  exile  shews  his  naked  breast, 
Of  arms,  of  armies  unpossest ; 
Is  welcom'd  from  his  far  retreat, 
And  led,  in  triumph,  to  thy  seat' ! 

Now  comes  the  contest,  which  concerns 
A  King,  for  whom  a  people  yearns  ! 
What  mighty  efforts  it  requires 
To  force  them  to  their  own  desires! 
To  rouse  a  nation  from  its  torpor, 
That  twice  has  chosen  an  "  usurper!" 

From  regions  of  th>  extremest  north 
Now  rush  the  countless  Vandals  forth : 
From  Finland's  gulph,  from  farthest  Don, 
Advance  the  fierce  barbarians  on ; 
Hungarians,  Saxons,  Cossacks,  Russians, 
Swedes,  Hanoverians,  Austrians,  Prussians, 


166 

Combining  in  one  great  exertion 

To  overwhelm — Napoleon's  person ! ! 

For,  be  it  known  to  Jew  and  Christian, 

Poor  "suffering  France"  is  not  in  question, 

Nay,  Frenchmen  !  take  them  by  the  hands. 

Why  look  so  frosty  on  your  friends  ? 

I  wot,  they  are  your  kind  allies ; 

Your  welfare's  precious  in  their  eyes ! 

Will  you  not  render  up  your  chosen, 

To  save  the  lives  of  many  a  thousand  ? 

Nay,  then,  since  you  deny  them  still, 

They'll  serve  you,-  though  against  your  will ! 

....  United  Europe  may  exile 

His  body  to  a  distant  isle  ; 

But  o'er  the  world  extends  his  name, 

And  ages  cannot  blot  his /awe/ 


167 
EXTRACT 

FROM  A  NEWS-CARRIER'S  ADDRESS,  IN  1820. 

My  friends,  our  Editor's  fair  Muse 
Has  pouts,  and  threatens  to  refuse  . 
Her  favors ;  tho'  she  once  was  kind, 
And  much  I  fear  she's  chang'd  her  mind ; 
Indeed,  of  late,  so  much  he  frets 
About  his  own  and  others9  debts, 
And  strives  so  hard  to  keep  the  surface, 
He's  not  much  time  to  look  on  hey  face ; 
He  has  not  leisure  for  much  cooing, 
And  she  (sex-like)  requires  much  wooing.: 
So  I  must  your  indulgence  crave, 
And  humbly  offer  what  IJhave. 

On  New  Year's  Eve  I  had  a  dream, 
Which  he  accepted  as  a  theme ;— • 
While  lying  in  a  gentle  dose, 
A  bright  Millenial  scene  arose ; 
The  Lion  with  the  Lamb  reclin'd, 
Pigeons  and  Hawks  together  din'd  ; 
Sheep,  Wolves,  Hounds,  Hares,  promiscuous  rang'd, 
And  kind  civilities  exchang'd  ; 
Volcanoes,  Earthquakes,  Tempests,  ceas'd, 
,And  sickness  pain'd  nor  man  nor  beast; 


168 

But  Death  did  o'er  his  prisoner  creep, 
With  the  soft  step  of  balmy  sleep : — 

Extravagant  as  this  might  seem, 
Ev'n  in  the  mockeries  of  a  dream- 
More  wonders  still !  the  BEASTS  might  yield, 
Their  hate,  and  nestle  in  the  field ; 
The  Elements  might  rest  in  peace, 
And  all  their  dreadful  warfare  cease ; 
But  how  with  MAX — lost,  wretched  MAX  ? 
Could  he  be  tam'd — then  demons  can ! 
Yes — HE,  too,  chang'd  his  savage  mind, 
And  ceas'd  to  prey  upon  his  kind  ! 
Grim  Tyranny  forbore  her  yoke ; 
Intolerance  her  shackles  broke  ; 
War  doff'd  his  helmet;  Ai^rice,  too, 
Unclench'd  his  hands,  and  generous  grew ;  - 
The  Vices  all  from  Earth  were  hurl'd, 
And  PEACE  and  JUSTICE  rul'd  the  world. 

Alas  !  that  what  so  blest  did  seem, 
Was  only  a  delusive  DREAM  ! 
That  earth,  and  all  it  holds,  is  still 
A  scene  of  strife —  a  world  of  ill ! 


THE  DESPOTS. 

WRITTEN  IN  1816,  AFTER  THE  ALLIES  HAD  FORCED  THE 
FRENCH  PEOPLE  TO  SUBMIT  TO  THE  BOURBONS 

....  But  grow,  thou  vegetable  king! 

Ripen,  till  Time  a  sickle  bring, 

And  with  one  ruin  overwhelm 

Thee,  and  the  thorns  that  .choke  thy  realm ! 

When  that  time  comes,  arid  come  it  must, 
For  wrath  will  overtake  th'  unjust, 
Europe,  awaken'd  from  delusion, 
Shall  sorely  rue  this  foul  pollution  ! 


15 


170 
EXTRACT 

FROM  A  NEW  YEARNS  ADDRESS  FOR  1821. 

-Of  our  Editor,  lately,  I  ask'd,  as  he  stood 
And  beating  his  pate,  in  contemplative  mood, 
If  he'd  write  me  some  verses  for  New  Year — so  pleasing 
As  to  coax  out  the  cash  without  over  much  teazing  ? 
<•'  Write  verses,  indeed  !"  said  he,  staring  like  mad — 
"Think  you,  verses  are  made  up  like  matches,  my  lad : — 
Do  you  think,  while  my  head  is  distracted  with  cares 
To  come  at  my  own,  and  to  give  others  theirs, 
I  can  calm  my  ideas,  and  sit  down  at  pleasure, 
And  drill  awkward  words  into  musical  measure  r" 

But,  said  I,  only  think  how  the  loungers  would  growl, 
And  (more  terrible  still)  how  the  ladies  would  scowl — 
The  loungers,  to  see  a  dull  almanac*  only, 
Without  something  better  to  cheer  them  when  lonely, 
Would  swear  'twas  all  nonsense  their  noddles  to  fill 
With  the  thoughts  of  that  Time,  which  they  wislrd  but 

to  kill— 

And  to  pester  the  ladies  'bout  days,  weeks  and  months. 
Would  make  me  appear,  in  their  eyes,  but  a  dunce — 

*  A  Counting-House  Almanac  usually  accompanied  these 
Addresses  at  the  place  where  this  was  written. 


171 


"What  a  flat  the  boy  is  !  they  would  cry,  in  a  pet, 
To  remind  us  of  time,  which  we  fain  would  forget-r- 
Consider,  too,  what  they'll  expect  from  your  Muse — • 
(Thought  I,  with  this  sop,  the  man  cannot  refuse) — • 
Why,  truly,  my  boy,  said  our  petulant  Editor, 
You  stick  like  a  dun,  and  insist  like  a  creditor—- 
But I'll  tell  you,  'twere  easier  to  regulate  chaos, 
Than  write  decent  verses  while  task'd  like  a  dray- 
horse  ; — 

You  talk  of  my  Muse,  sir — as  if  she  would  come 
At  the  sound  of  a  horn,  or  the  beat  of  a  drum  ! 
Do  you  think  she  can  bear  with  the  knocking  of  duus, 
Like  a  harden'd  camp  woman,  familiar  with  guns  ? 
Do  you  think  I  have  no  more  respect  for  her,  sir, 
Than  to  send  for  her  here  to  this  bustle  and  stir  ? 
Would  the  delicate  fair  one  receive  my  addresses 
'Midst  the  daubing  of  ink  and  the  squeaking  of  presses*— 
'Midst  the  hard  calculations  of  losses  and  gains, 
The  biting  of  lips  and  the  racking  of  brains  ? 
Her  character,  sir,  you  judge  widely  amiss, 
If  you  think  she'd  accept  of  such  wooing  a§  this. 

But,  pray,  Mr.  Editor,  what  shall  I  do, 
If  now  I  am  left  in  the  lurch  sir,  by  you  ? 
Would  not  each  subscriber  soon  shew  me  his  back 
If  I  offer  d  him  only  a  dry  almanac  ? 


172 

And  could  you  or  I  think  it  monstrously  strange 
If  it  greatly  reduced  my  sum  total  of  change  ? 
But  suppose  that  in  case  you  can  do  nothing  neater) 
You  turn  what's  been  said  to  a  brisk  sort  of  metre  : — 

Agreed  !  he  exclainvd — and  away  ran  his  quill 
As  swift  as  it  does  when  receipting  a  bill, 
He  said,  give  them  this  for  the  present  my  boy, 
With  your  and  my  compliments,  wishing  them  joy — 
Assure  them,  next  year  (if  1  prosper  mean-while) 
I'll  endeavor  to  treat  them  in  far  higher  style — 
And  tell  them  (in  case  they  find  fault  with  my  rhymes) 
I've  the  common  apology — namely — Hard  Times .' — 
— When  lo  !  at  that  instant  old  Hard  Times  appeared, 
With  lean  lanthorn  jaws  and  a  rough  grisly  beard — 
Tell  the  people,  said  he,  I'm  the  National  Gout, 
Come  to  drive  the  foul  humors  of  Luxury  out-^- 
Bid  them  see  that  Economy's  precepts  are  kept ; 
But  be  lib'ral  to  Printers — that  case  I  except  I 


173 


DARTMOOR. 

WRITTEN    DURING    THE    EXCITEMENT  WHICH  PREVAILED 
AFTER  THE  AFFAIR  AT  DARTMOOR  PRISON. 

O  England  !  should'st  thou  e'er  again, 
Force  us  to  meet  thee  on  the  main, 
The  spirit  of  the  murder'd  Tar 
Shall  aggravate  the  invidious  M7ar ; 
Perch'd  on  the  shroud,  it  will  be  heard, 
Loud  as  Macdonough's  valiant  bird, 
And  through  thy  panic-stricken  fleet 
Scream  the  shrill  omen  of  defeatl 


*15 


174 


OUR  ARMY  AND  NAVY. 

Laud  we  the  men  of  high  renown  ! 
Wreaths  for  a  JACKSON  and  a  BROWN  I 
The  first,  not  more  for  martial  fame, 
Than  force  t'  extinguish  Faction's  flame  ; 
The  last  for  skill  and  courage  known, 
Equall'd  by  few — excelled  by  none. 
Wreaths  for  a  DEAHBON'S,  RIPLEY'S  brow  I 
Names,  long  remember'd  by  the  foe  ; 
And  last,  not  least,  on  rolls  of  fame, 
A  SCOTT'S,  a  MILLER'S  honor'd  name. 
Nor  shall  we  pass  each  valiant  spirit, 
In  rank  inferior,  not  in  merit ; 
'Twas  theirs,  our  Liberty  to  guard — 
That  Liberty  is  their  reward : 
'Tis  theirs  to  twine,  in  peaceful  days, 
The  laurel,  with  the  civic  bays. 

Resplendent,  on  our  Naval  scroll, 
Shines  a  DECATUR  and  a  HULL — 
A  PERRY  and  MACDONOUGH — these 
Fam'd  for  exploits  on  midland  seas — 
CHAUNCEY — who  vainly  strove  to  fight  - 
The  ever-flying,  recreant  Knight— 


175 

BAINBRIDGE  and  ROGE-RS — STEWART— JONES — 

Columbia's  well-deserving  sons ! 

No  common  champion  struck  to  these  ; 

It  was  "  the  mistress  of  the  seas!" 

Nor  she  alone  ;  but  her  allies 
Swell'd  our  proud  list  of  victories  ;* 
The  blood -hounds,  cherish'd  and  retain'd, 
In  mischief  rear'd,  and  plunder  train'd, 
Europe,  who  their  forbearance  buys, 
Lacks  will,  or  power,  to  chastise  ; 
Not  so  Columbia — prompt  to  save, 
Lo,  her  proud  squadron  ploughs  the  wave ; 
Not  to  enthral,  but  to  release  ; 
Not  to  subject,  but  free  the  seas ; 
To  loose  the  slave,  and  not  to  bind  ; 
Her  cause,  the  cause  of  all  mankind ! 
Admiring  nations  gladly  hail 
The  true  "  Deliverer's"  welcome  sail, 
And  to  the  flag  of  high  repute 
Yield  the  gratuitous  salute. 

Short  is  the  Pirate's  hopeless  fight, 
Sore  his  chastisement,  swift  his  flight ; 
Prompt  is  the  restitution  made, 
And  costs  of  prosecution  paid ! 

*  Alluding  to  our  war  with  Algiers,  in  181*. 


176 

The  neighb'ring  pirates,  struck  with  awe, 
Hear  and  obey  the  cannon  law, 
And  set  (such  is  the  stern  decree) 
Captives  of  various  nations  free, 
Of  this  our  sons  shall  proudly  read  ; 
These  are  "  Deliverers"  indeed ! 


If7 


PARODY 

OX  THE  SOXG  OF    EUSTACE,  IN    MARMIOX ALLUDING  TO 

THE  STATE  OF  EUROPE  IN  1823. 

Where  shall  the  tyrant  rest, 

When  power's  departed — 
When  Freedom  rears  her  crest 

O'er  the  base  hearted  ? 
Earth  will,  reluctant,  take 

What  Death  must  give  her— 
That  dust  to  bliss  shall  wake 

Never — O,  never  ! 

Swift  on  the  march  of  mind 

Europe  is  pressing- 
Man  struggles  hard  to  find- 
Liberty's  blessing. 
Freedom's  bright  flag  shall  spread/ 

To  be  furl'd  never ! 
Over  the  Patriot's  head 
Waving  forever ! 


178 

Where  shall  the  Despot  rest, 

Scorn'd  by  his  legions  ? 
Where  be  a  welcome  guest  ? 

Not  in  THESE  regions. 
Scorn  at  his  grave  shall  point, 

Mocking  forever — 
Him  shall  man  re-anoint 

Never — 0,  never  ! 

Where  shall  the  tyrant  lie 

When  life's  departed  ? 
Who  o'er  his  bier  shall  sigh  ? 

Not  the  true-hearted  ! 
Shame  on  his  tomb  shall  sit, 

Brooding  forever  ! — 
Laurel's  shall  honor  it, 

Never — 0,  never. 


179 


EPITAPH, 

OX    A    DECEASED    FEMALE    FRIEND. 

Go,  well  prepared  thy  kindred  saints  to  join— - 
Society  congenial  as  divine — 
AVhile  we,  less  worthy,  in  probation  strive 
At  thy  supreme  perfection  to  arrive : — 

Meantime,  thy  bright  example's  cheering  ray, 
Like  Israel's  pillar,  leads  us  on  the  way, 
To  better  worlds  illumes  our  path  o'er  this, 
And,  through  a  lucid  vista,  guides  to  bliss. 


180 


THE  KIND  NEIGHBOR. 

Who  is  there  whom  sickness  and  pain  have  assail'd, 
When  strength  has  departed,  and  fortitude  faiPd, 
But  remembers,  with  kindness,  the  cherishing  hand, 
The  encouraging  voice  and  the  countenance  bland, 
Of  the  good  patient  nurse  who  your  anguish  has  sooth'd, 
Who  has  watch'd  for  your  comfort,  your  pillow  has 

smooth'd, 

Administerd  drugs,  your  diseases  assuaging, 
And  bath'd  your  hot  temples  when  fever  was  raging  ? 

If  those  we  admire,  who  thus  comfort  their  patients, 
We  should  fervently  love  those  who  nurse  reputations ; 
Who  watch  for  our  characters,  cautious  and  wary, 
Volunteers,  though  ambitious,  yet  not  mercenary ; 

-*  *  #  *  *  "  * 

Now  if,  in  bodily  diseases, 
Gratuitous  attention  pleases, 
Purely,  our  warmest  gratitude  should  lean 

Towards  those  kind  ones,  whose  incessant  labors 
Are  exercis'd,  with  vigilance  most  keen, 

To  guard  the  morals  of  their  careless  neighbors. 
This  sage  remark  reminds  us  of  Miss  TABITHA, 

{Whose  kindness  .of  this  sort  was  very  fervent)— 


181 

Discovering,  through  her  window  blinds,  one  sabbath,  a 
Splendid  establishment,  with  many  a  servant, 
Her  spectacles  she  quickly  mounted, 
And  all  the  various  items  counted, 
Of  master,  mistress,  children,  waiters, 
Baggage — dogs — horses — and  all  creatures. 

We  know  that  many  others 

Of  Tabitha's  ripe  age, 
Besides  aunts,  uncles,  mothers, 
Sisters  and  cousins,  fathers,  brothers, 

Their  kind  attentions  to  engage, 
Have  sometimes  younger  darlings  of  their  own ; 
But  this  good  maid,  as  such,  of  course  had  none  : 
And  lucky  it  was 
For  many ;  because 

She  could  not  so  well,  amidst  family  cares, 
Regulate  and  adjust  other  people's  affairs ! 

Not  for  the  world  would  I  insinuate 

That  the  fair  lady  kept  her  single  state 
For  want  of  offers — no ;  sincerely, 
'Twas  for  the  good  of  neighbors  merely. 

Now,  the  next  thing  she  had  to  do, 
Was  to  discover  who  was  who, 
16 


182 


And  first  she  found  that  one  of  mind  congenial 

To  hers,  had  the  command  of  every  menial ; 

The  housekeeper,  a  widow,  prim  and  staid, 

With  whom  our  busy,  antiquated  maid 

Soon  made  acquaintance  ;  and  in  course  of  chat 

Discovered  the  important  secret,  that 

The  master  was  a  foreign  nobleman ;  and  then 

Which  was  the  lady's  maid,  and  which  his  lordship's 

man ; 

And  this  and  that  were  such  and  such—- 
Which tended  to  the  purpose  much ; 

But  not  enough  for  her  desire  ; 
It  is  not  now  and  then  a  trifle 
That  can  the  flaming  temper  stifle, 

When  curiosity's  on  fire. 

So,  from  her  Gpp'site  chamber,  darken'd, 
Quite  unperceiv'd,  she  look'd  and  hearken'd, 

Determin'd  to  inspect  their  morals  ; 
And  find  out  what  their  habits  were, 
If  bold  licentious  doings  there 

Were  practis'd,  or  domestic  quarrels. 

At  length  her  tender  modesty  was  wounded, 

And  her  keen  sense  of  decency  confounded  ; 

She  scarcely  could  the  shame  bear ! 


183 

She  plainly  saw,  with  infinite  distress, 
The  valet  and  the  lady's  maid  undress, 
In  the  same  chamber !  ! ! 

When  this  appalling  fact  she  learn'd, 
Her  palpitating  bosom  yearn'd 

With  laudable  impatience ; 
And  she  resolv'd  next  day  to  go 
And  let  his  worthy  lordship  know 

Of  such  abominations  ! 

As  early  as  she  could  with  due  decorum, 

She  gain'd  access,  and  laid  the  fact  before  him  ; 

Care  for  the  honor  of  his  house  professing ; 
Indeed,  but  for  a  neighborly  regard, 
She  would  not  (so  she  blushingly  declared) 

Have  ventur'd  on  a  duty  so  distressing. 

Thanks,  madam  ! — with  a  smile  his  lordship  said  ; 
They're  marry'd — tho'  she's  still  called  lady's  maid  ; 

I  am  a  stranger,  and  I  know  not  whether 
Our  customs  are  like  yours,  with  man  and  woman  ; 
jJut  in  my  country,  it  is  not  uncommon, 

For  man  and  wife  to  go  to  bed  together  ! 


184 


DOUBLE  PENITENCE. 

Excess  of  turtle  soup  and  wine 

Outrag'd  my  pastor's  conscience — 

Repent  you,  said  the  good  divine, 
This  wickedness  and  nonsense ! 

Repentance,  too,  implies  reform, 

And  abstinence  from  evil  j 
Then  bear  up,  friend,  against  the  storra 

That  drifts  tliee  tow'rd  the  devil . 

This  grave  advice  (assisted  by 

Some  inward  indications) 
I  took — nor  afterwards  did  I 

Indulge  old  inclinations. 

Said  he,  one  day,  your  penitence 

Will  free  you  from  all  trouble- 
Not  quite,  said  I,  for  in  one  sense 
My  penitence  is  double  ! 

How  so  ?  Why,  when  I  pass  and  view 
Your  board,  with  lux'ries  scented, 

Sometimes,  dear  sir,  indeed,  I  do 
Repent  that  I  repented  ! 


185 


PRIDE  AND  POVERTY. 

Two  gentlemen,  whose  copious  wealth, 

And,  consequently,  leisure, 
Permitted  them  to  ride  for  health, 

Or  for  their  pleasure, 

On  a  slow  journey  having  lounged 
Through  verdant  and  luxuriant  land, 

To  their  surprise,  abruptly  plunged 
Into  a  barren  waste  of  sand. 

This  occupied  no  trifling  space  ; 
Yet  all  around  its  pallid  face 
Were  thrifty  groves  and  pastures  seep, 
And  meadows,  cloth'd  in  lively  green ; 

Like  curls  of  hair,  that  still  array 
Themselves  around  the  face  of  clay ; 
Or  constant  evergreens,  that  grow, 
Surrounding  dreary  fields  of  snow. 

*  *         •    *  *  * 

Our  travellers,  somewhat  amaz'd, 
Halted,  and  o'er  the  desart  gaz,'d  j 
*16      - 


186 

Whether  an  earthquake  (some  uncommon  one) 

Had  been  concern'd  in  this  phenomenon, 

Or  \rhether  this,  or  that,  or  t'other 

Had  blemish'd  thus  our  common  mother, 

If  by  alluvion,  or  concussion — 

Were  the  main  questions  in  discussion. 

Now  it  so  happen'd,  that,  where  they 
Were  contemplating  in  this  way, 
A*  wretched  hovel  show'd  its  shabby  form, 
A  rude  and  scanty  shelter  from  the  storm, 
Rais'd  on  a  little  knoll,  where  scanty  groups 
Of  herbage,  had  allur'd  a  poor  man's  hopes, 
To  coax  coy  nature  some  small  crop  to  yield, 
And  vouch  a  pittance  to  his  little  field. 

This  man,  tho'  poor,  had  yet  a  spice  of  pride,     . 
Not  seldom  to  the  humblest  lot  allied ; 

And  anxious  lest  the  strangers  might  suppose 

That  he  this  spacious  poverty  inherited, 
Through  a  small  crevice  he  put  forth  his  nose, 
And  thus  accosted  them,  in  manner  spirited 

"  Good  gentlemen,  I  easily  can  guess    . 

Your. subject,  and  your  mutual  opinion  ; 
You  think,  without  a  doubt,  that  I  possess 

O'er  all  this  plain  full  title  and  dominion  ; 


187 

I  am  not  wealthy,  to  be  sure, 
But  still  I  am  not  quite  so  poor  ! 

This  waste,  that  brings  no  profit—- 
This wretched  sandy  barren, 
I  have  but  little  share  in  ; 

I  own  but  half  an  acre  of  it ! 


188 


THE  EXILE. 

Not  to  Siberia's  land  of  frost 
Was  this  devoted  exile  sent ; 

Nor  Java's  pestilential  coast — 
Severer  was  his  banishment. 

Nought  could  the  moral  world  afford 
To  give  him  comfort,  joy  or  rest ; 

The  ban  his  vices  had  incurr'd 

Conscience  approv'd  within  his  breast. 

The  victim  of  a  tyrant's  power, 

Condemn'd  in  distant  climes  to  roam, 

May  sometimes  find  a  happy  hour, 
In  hopes  of  pardon  and  of  home. 

But  what  bright  hour  on  him  shall  beam, 
Who,  bearing  an  internal  curse, 

Is  banish'd  from  his  own  esteem, 
To  burning  regions  of  REMORSE  ? 


189 


DEMONSTRATION. 

I  most  highly  approve  of  the  theory  now 
Which  the  faculty  still  out  of  pride  disavow, 
That  in  certain  complaints  you  may  give  a  man  rest 
By  applying  a  dove's  or  a  chicken's  warm  breast. 

Though  some  may  pronounce  it  an  old  woman's  notion, 
It  is  better  by  far  than  a  blister  or  potion ; 
I  know — for  I've  try'd — that  'twill  heal  the  keen  smart 
Which  is  felt  in  a  certain  disease  of  the  heart. 

Sophia,  though  slow  in  avowing  her  love, 
Was  civil  enough — and  I  call'd  her  my  Dove  ; 
But  the  pain  of  suspense  gave  me  exquisite  anguish, 
Though  pride  would  not  suffer  my  spirits  to  languish. 

At  length,  in  a  moment  of  tenderness  won, 
Her  love  she  confess'd  in  a  faltering  tone ; 
I  press'd  the  dear  Dove  to  my  breast,  and  the  pain 
Subsided,  and  never  disturb'd  me  again. 


190 


RESIGNATION  AND  PRAISE. 

Habakkuk— iii— 17. 

What  though  the  fig-tree  fails  to  bloom, 
The  vineyard,  too,  its  fruit  denies — 

The  olive  barren  has  become, 
And  the  expected  harvest  dies — 

What  though  the  bleating,  fleecy  race 
Appear  no  more  in  pastures  green  ; 

What  though,  in  their  allotted  place 
The  lowing  kine  no  more  are  seen — 

Yet,  though  the  treasures  of  the  land 
Are  swept  by  the  commanding  rod, 

I'll  bow  beneath  the  chastening  hand, 
I  know  it  is  the  hand  of  God  ! 

Still,  in  his  mercy,  he  reserves 

Riches,  surpassing  human  thought ; 

Wealth,  more  than  sinful  man  deserves, 
Wealth  that  can  not  be  sold  or  bought. 

Then  gratefully  I'll  raise  my  voice 

To  Him,  omnipotent  to  save, 
In  His  SALVATION  I'll  rejoice, 

His  promis'd  bliss  beyond  the  grave. 


191 


THE  KING  AJSTD  THE  ARTIST. 

A  king,  affected  by  an  artist's  death, 
Who  in  his  arms  had  drawn  his  final  breath, 
Wept,  till  Suspicion  in  the  court  began 
To  whisper,  he  was  little  more  than  man  ! 

A  nobleman,  on  royal  bounty  fed, 
Like  a  true  veteran  sycophant,  thus  said — 
"  I  grieve,  your  majesty,  to  see  this  woe  ; 
Can  a  mere  painter's  fate  afflict  you  so  ?" 

Slave  !  said  the  king — mere  painter,  did  you  say  ? 
I  can  make  nobles,  like  you,  every  day  ; 
But  God  alone  the  genius  can  bestow, 
Which  animated,  once,  that  clav-cold  brow, 


192 


IMAGINATION. 

Imagination !  thou  art  like  a  horse 

That  runs  away  forever  with  his  master, 

And  when  an  effort's  made  to  check  his  course, 
Grasps  bits  between  his  teeth,  and  runs  still  faster. 

Well,  if  thou  wilt  run — then,  here  goes, 
Leave,  if  thou  canst,  all  care  behind ; 

Increase  thy  speed  to  pass  my  foes  ; 
Still  more  my  scatter'd  friends  to  find. 

Bear  me  to  scenes  of  former  days, 
Where  childhood  still,  in  memory,  plays; 
Then  turn,  where  recollection  sees 
Youth's  fruit,  just  ripening  on  the  trees ; 
Bear  me  to  all  that  is  ideal, 
But  leap  o'er  Manhood — that's  too  real ! 
Forward  to  Age,  if  breath  permits, 
See  there  if  thou  canst  champ  thy  bits- 
Go  on,  if  still  thou  wilt  not  stop — ' 
I'll  warrant,  Death  will  bring  thee  up! 


193 


MODEST  MODESTY. 

Says  JANE  (with  envy  ill  suppress'd 

And  by  her  bridling  air  confes&'d) 

I  wonder  what  our  friends  discover 

In  CLARA,  that  they  thus  should  love  her  ? 

She  is  a  careless,  forward  romp, 
Forever  prone  to  laugh  and  jump, 
Indeed,  her  beauty  none  denies— 
But  Modesty  is  what  I  prize. 

ALMIRA  answer'd,  somewhat  dryly, 
With  cast  of  eye  directed  slyly — 
And  by  an  argument  (the  oddest 
You  can  conceive)  prov'd  CLARA  modest. 

Dear  JANE,  I  hope  you  will  not  pout ; 

I,  as  your  friend,  presume  to  say  it — 
CLARA  has  Modesty,  no  doubt — 

But  she's  too  modest  to  display  it. 


194 
THE  RULING  PASSION, 

OR,  THE  FORCE  OF  HABIT. 

A  gamester,  fond  of  wagers,  but  no  dunce, 
Sent  for  a  doctor,  in  his  illness,  once, 

Who,  sorely  griev'd  his  patient's  nerves  to  shock, 
Said,  if  my  true  opinion  I  must  give, 
My  friend,  I  am  convinc'd  you  cannot  live 

Beyond  tomorrow  morning,  eight  o'clock. 

The  invalid,  who  could  not  even  lisp,  or 
Exalt  his  voice  above  a  whisper, 

Beckon'd  the  doctor,  when  retiring : 
"Who  came  again  to  his  bed-side ; 
The  patient  said  (and  faintly  sigh'd) 

"  Beyond  all  doubt  I  am  expiring ; 

But  since  you  are  so  positive 

About  this  case  of  mine, 
fJliat  will  you  bet  I  do  not  live 

'Till  nine?" 


195 
SOMEWHERE, 

OR,  THE  RETORT  COURTEOUS. 

A  gentleman,  alone  with  starch  Miss  PRIM, 
(Whose  character  he  did  not  much  admire) 
For  talk's  sake,  as  he  silently  sat  by  her, 

She,  in  affected  manner,  said  to  him, 

"  Sir,  since  I  luckily  have  come  where 
I  thus  have  met  your  face  once  more, 
I  will  observe  that,  once  before, 

If  I  mistake  not,  I  have  seen  you  somewhere'* 

«Tis  very  likely,  Miss,  he  coldly  said, 

(Not  much  inclin'd  the  interview  to  soften. 

But  wishing  further  answer  to  evade) 
'Tis  likely — for  I've  been  there  very  often. 


196 


THE  SEA  SERPENT'S  SOLILOQUY. 

While,  harmless,  in  mine  element,  I  lave 
My  vermile  form,  and  stem  the  briny  wave, 
Or  doze  supinely  on  the  calm  expanse, 
What  various  forms  across  my  course  advance  ! 
Now  a  huge  fish  its  lofty  wings  displays, 
And  from  its  side  emits  the  lightning's  blaze ; 
Now  comes  another,  of  inferior  size, 
Her  sides  unfurnish'd  with  such  flashing  eyes  ; 
And  here  is'  one,  with  feelers  well  supply'd, 
Heaving  my  dainty  mack'rel  o'er  her  side  ! 
And  here  again  some  wingless  ones,  that  sweep, 
With  slender  fins,  the  surface  of  the  deep. 
Well,  let  them  pass — and  if  a  war  they  wage  ; 
My  a^iie  movements  can  evade  their  rage  ;     • 
Among  the  sub-marine  apartments  I 
In  coral  groves  or  rocky  caves  can  lie, 
Coil'd  safely  in  the  ocean's  bosom,  where 
The  busy  rogues  may  follow,  if  they  dare  ! 

Now  for  a  nap,  while  quietly  I  reach 
My  form  beside  Nahant's  delightful  beach — 
But  what  is  this  comes  roaring,  smoking  by  5 
I  must  present  my  magnifying  eye  ! 


197 


It  is  the  oddest  fish,  upon  my  word, 

That  ever  on  the  face  of  ocean  stirr'd  ! 

And  on  its  back  strange  animals  are  seen, 

Some  white,  some  black,  some  yellow,  and  some  green  ; 

Such  lovely  creatures,  all  so  fresh  and  fair ! 

I'm  tempted  to  devour  them,  I  declare  ! 

Now,  at  a  second  glance,  I  plainly  view 

Others,  with  sable  backs ;  and  some  with  blue, 

And  when  I  look  again,  with  much  surprise, 

I  see  their  breasts  adorn'd  with  yellow  eyes  ; 

Fire  in  their  mouths,  and  smoke  around  their  gills  ; 

Though  often  each  his  mouth  with  liquor  fills, 

Yet  still  I  see  the  unextinguish'd  fires ; 

More  frequently  the  curling  smoke  aspires ! 

And  now  they  ramble,  on  the  neighboring  shore, 
And  blaze  and  vapor  pain  my  sight  once  more  ! 
I  see  the  struggles  of  my  vassal  fish  ! 
I  smell  their  flavor  in  the  steaming  dish  ! 

"Why  all  this  labor  ?  poor  dependent  things  ! 
Tell  whence  this  formal  toil  and,  trouble  springs  ? 
I  pity  ye,  poor  rogues,  who  can't,  like  me, 
At  leisure  dine  upon  them  in  the  sea ! 
How  happy  were  ye,  if  the  smaller  fry 
Ye  could  devour  as  readily  as  I ! 

•17 


198 

Yet  who  knows  but,  amongst  yourselves,  ye  do, 
As  readily,  as  ravenously  too  ? 

More  fire  and  smoke !  and  something  odd,  beside, 
Comes  ratt'ling,  tick'ling,  glancing  on  my  hide ; 
This,  to  a  noble  fish,  is  rude  enough ! 
Nothing  but  fire  and  smoke  is  here — I'm  off  1 
And  'midst  the  icebergs,  where  my  brethren  dwellt 
My  wonderful  adventures  I  may  tell ; 
But  their  credulity  it  may  outreach, 
Though  none  my  truth  did  ever  yet  impeach, 
Yet  they  may  still  reluctantly  believe 
That  such  strange  animals  on  earth  can  live. 


199 
THE  DAWN  OF  SABBATH, 

IN    THE    CITY. 

Once  more  the  hour,  delightfully  serene, 
Arrives,  when  clamorous  noise  disturbs  me  not ; 
When  the  rude  din  of  business  is  hush'd  ; 
When  worldly  bustle  is  no  longer  heard ; 
When  thousands  sleep,  unconscious  and  unseen. 
Leaving  the  world  to  nature  and  to  me. 

How  indolently  opes  the  eye  of  day ; 
How  dim  and  dusky  is  its  early  ray  ! 

As  the  fond  infant,  waken'd  from  sweet  rest, 
Breathes  tender  whispers  o'er  the  parent  breast  ; 
So,  in  their  softest  nates,  the  feather'd  throng 
Salute  their  mother  earth  with  gentlest  song. 

How  solemn,  yet  how  sweet  this  silence  seems, 
While  all  around  me  sleep,  or  fret  with  dreams  j 
While  Pride  and  Bigotry  alike  recline, 
While  Avarice  and  Malice  lie  supine. 

While  from  all  human  observation  free, 

How  sweet,  my  Maker,  to  commune  with  thee  I 


200 

Now,  on  the  borders  of  the  scatter'd  clouds, 
The  purple  tints  announce  the  advancing  day— 
Now  on  the  gilded -vanes  the  mellow  gleams 
Of  light  appear,  as  heralds  of  the  sun. 

A  solitary  footstep  echoes  now 
Through  the  long  street — the  holy  calm  is  o'er  ; 
Let  me  retire,  ere  some  poor  slave  of  vice, 
With  feverish  countenance*  shall  pain  my  eyes ; 
Or,  what  is  worse,  ere  the  cold  hypocrite, 
With  freezing  apathy,  shall  cross  my  path, 
And  quench  the  warmth  that  animates  my  heart* 


INDEX. 


New-England 13 

Mr.  Cricket         - 25 

The  Vacant  Chair 

The  Hypochondriac  Cured         ..... 

Address  to  Spring -  37 

Real  Beauty 39 

Address  of  the  Whale  to  Gas 40 

Verse  in  Dishabille 42 

The  Quarrels  of  Love        -         -         -         -         -         -  44 

To  a  Friend        --------  46 

What  is  it .' 49 

Mercy 50 

Best  Cure  for  Trouble 52 

The  Female  Martyr •         -  53 

The  Tormentor     -      - 59 

Mortality  and  Immortality           .....  61 

The  Devil  Fishing      - 62 

The  Wilderness 65 

The  Modest  Retort 66 

Lines  on  a  Charity  School 68 

Ode  to  Vanity 69 

Lines  to  Stella 71 

Piracy 72 

The  Pleasures  of  Winter ,      -  74 

The  Trial  of  Time 75 

Solitude 80 

True  Glory .81 

Love  and  Reason 83 

Striped  Bunting          -------  85 

Dreaming  and  Waking       --..--  87 

To  an  Affected  Heiress 88 

Lines  to  a  young  Lady,  too  fond  of  dress     -  90 

iS'ew   Year's  Reflections      ------  92 

To  my  Pen         -  95 


INDEX. 

Affectation  Rebuked          .....  gg 

Platonic  Love 99 

Care 101 

The  Ruins 106 

Where  can  it  be  ? 108 

The  Journey  of  Life           ------  HO 

Give  no  Handle 113 

The  Winter's  Night 114 

Lines  in  behalf  of  a  Lover           .....  115 

The  Sailor 118 

American  Tribute 120 

The  Treble  Voice -  123 

Love  and  Lust    - 125 

Death  of  Love 127 

The  Generous  Negro 128 

Fragment 130 

The  Spies 134 

Mental  Beauty -  135 

Sports  of  Female  Youth 138 

The  Tomb  of  Washington 140 

Elegy 144 

William  Penn,  his  Friend  and  the  Justice          -        -  147 

Madness 149 

Reflections  on  a  Picture 150 

Fragments,  &c.       151,156,159,161,163,167,169,170,173.174 

Parody        -                 177 

Epitaph 179 

The  Kind  Neighbor 180 

Double  Penitence 184 

Pride  and  Poverty -  185 

The  Exile 188 

Demonstration     --------  189 

Resignation  and  Praise       -         -         -    "     -         -         -  190 

The  King  and  the  Artist 191 

Imagination 192 

Modest  Modesty           -....--  193 

The  Ruling  Passion 

Somewhere 195 

The  Sea  Serpent's  Soliloquy 196 

The  Dawn  of  Sabbath 199 


fe    £ 


-'I* 

'•SOV^ 


^ER%  AfclOSANGEtfj> 

^§  §>-v_.£ 

•SOV^  \Wm-JtiP 

^YOc,  ^•UBRARYflr 

r"  ^  ^ 
U  ! 


7"Tl  S 

DJO^  %/ojnvj-jo' 

F0^  ^OKAUFOfyj, 

^1  |\yg)| 

I      ^J  ^.      y-JI         I-      § 

IIH^ 


^Y-Qr        ^Sl-UBRARY^         A\\E-UNIVER% 

II  Ijuif  S  ts^l 


